f  -;* 


M*g.  h5't»^DMfCf  WAIU> 


LI  BRA  FLY 

OF   THE 

U  N  IVLRS  ITY 

or    ILLINOIS 

From  the  Library  of 

Arthur  Hill  Daniels 

Professor  of  Philosophy 

Acting  President  1933/34 

Presented  by  Mrs.  Daniels 


8^5 


V.  I 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 

in  2010  with  funding  from 

University  of  Illinois  Urbana-Champaign 


http://www.archive.org/details/marcella01war 


MARCELLA 


VOL.  I. 


JJ>«^ 


^4l^L<^  -4  ^  u/^z^ 


MAECELLA 


BY 

MES.   HUMPHRY   AVARD 

AuTHOE  OF  "Robert  Elsmeke,"    "The  History  of  David  Grieve,"  Etc. 


IN  TWO   VOLUMES 
VOL.  L 


MACMILLAN    AND    CO. 

AND    LONDON 
1894 

All  rights  reserved 


Copyright,  1894, 
By  MACMILLAN  AND  CO. 


NorfajootJ  5|resg : 

J.  S.  Gushing  &  Co.  —  Berwick  &  Smith. 

Boston,  Mass.-,  U.S.A. 


gas 
v./ 


"^  TO    MY    FATHER 

<t.-  C  inscribe  this  Book 

4--  IN    LOVE    AND    GRATITUDE 

V. 


BOOK   I. 

If  nature  put  not  forth  her  power 
About  the  opening  of  the  flower, 
Who  is  it  that  could  live  an  hour  ?  " 


MARCELLA 


CHAPTER    I. 

"The  mists  —  and  the  sun  —  and  the  first  streaks 
of  yellow  in  the  beeches  — beautiful !  —  beautiful!  " 

And  with  a  long  breath  of  delight  Marcella  Boyce 
threw  herself  on  her  knees  by  the  window  she  had 
just  opened,  and,  propping  her  face  upon  her  hands, 
devoured  the  scene  before  her  with  that  passionate 
intensity  of  pleasure  which  had  been  her  gift  and 
heritage  through  life. 

She  looked  out  upon  a  broad  and  level  lawn, 
smoothed  by  the  care  of  centuries,  flanked  on  either 
side  by  groups  of  old  trees  —  some  Scotch  firs,  some 
beeches,  a  cedar  or  two  —  groups  where  the  slow 
selective  hand  of  time  had  been  at  work  for  genera- 
tions, developing  here  the  delightful  roundness  of 
quiet  mass  and  shade,  and  there  the  bold  caprice  of 
bare  fir  trunks  and  ragged  branches,  standing  black 
against  the  sky.  Beyond  the  lawn  stretched  a  green 
descent  indefinitely  long,  carrjdng  the  eye  indeed 
almost  to  the  limit  of  the  view,  and  becoming  from 
the  lawn  onwards  a  wide  irregular  avenue,  bordered 
by  beeches  of  a  splendid  maturity,  ending  at  last  in  a 

VOL.    I. 1  1 


2  MARCELLA, 

far  distant  gap  where  a  gate  —  and  a  gate  of  some 
importance  —  clearly  should  have  been,  yet  was  not. 
The  size  of  the  trees,  the  wide  uplands  of  the  falling 
valley  to  the  left  of  the  avenue,  now  rich  in  the  tints 
of  harvest,  the  autumn  sun  pouring  steadily  through 
the  vanishing  mists,  the  green  breadth  of  the  vast 
lawn,  the  unbroken  peace  of  wood  and  cultivated 
ground,  all  carried  with  them  a  confused  general 
impression  of  well-being  and  of  dignity.  Marcella 
drew  it  in — this  impression — with  avidity.  Yet  at 
the  same  moment  she  noticed  involuntarily  the  gate- 
less  gap  at  the  end  of  the  avenue,  the  choked  condi- 
tion of  the  garden  paths  on  either  side  of  the  lawn, 
and  the  unsightly  tufts  of  grass  spotting  the  broad 
gravel  terrace  beneath  her  window. 

"  It  is  a  heavenly  place,  all  said  and  done,"  she  pro- 
tested to  herself  with  a  little  frown.  "  But  no  doubt 
it  would  have  been  better  still  if  Uncle  Robert  had 
looked  after  it  and  we  could  afford  to  keep  the  garden 
decent.     Still  —  " 

She  dropped  on  a  stool  beside  the  open  window, 
and  as  her  eyes  steeped  themselves  afresh  in  what 
they  saw,  the  frown  disappeared  again  in  the  former 
look  of  glowing  content  —  that  content  of  youth  which 
is  never  merely  passive,  nay,  rather,  contains  an  inva- 
riable element  of  covetous  eagerness. 

It  was  but  three  months  or  so  since  Marcella's 
father,  Mr.  Eichard  Boyce,  had  succeeded  to  the 
ownership  of  Mellor  Park  the  old  home  of  the 
Boyces,  and  it  was  little  more  than  six  weeks  since 
Marcella  had  received  her  summons  home  from  the 
students'  boarding-house  in   Kensington,  where   she 


MARCELLA.  3 

had  been  lately  living.  She  had  ardently  wished 
to  assist  in  the  June  "  settling-in/'  having  not  been 
able  to  apply  her  mind  to  the  music  or  painting  she 
was  supposed  to  be  studying,  nor  indeed  to  any  other 
subject  whatever,  since  the  news  of  their  inheritance 
had  reached  her.  But  her  mother  in  a  dry  little  note 
had  let  it  be  known  that  she  preferred  to  manage  the 
move  for  herself.  Marcella  had  better  go  on  with  her 
studies  as  long  as  possible. 

Yet  Marcella  was  here  at  last.  And  as  she  looked 
round  her  large  bare  room,  with  its  old  dilapidated 
furniture,  and  then  out  again  to  woods  and  lawns,  it 
seemed  to  her  that  all  was  now  well,  and  that  her 
childhood  with  its  squalors  and  miseries  was  blotted 
out  —  atoned  for  by  this  last  kind  sudden  stroke  of 
fate,  which  might  have  been  delayed  so  deplorably !  — 
since  no  one  could  have  reasonably  expected  that  an 
apparently  sound  man  of  sixty  would  have  succumbed 
in  three  days  to  the  sort  of  common  chill  a  hunter  and 
sportsman  must  have  resisted  successfully  a  score  of 
times  before. 

Her  great  desire  now  was  to  put  the  past  —  the 
greater  part  of  it  at  any  rate  —  behind  her  altogether. 
Its  shabby  worries  were  surely  done  with,  poor  as  she 
and  her  parents  still  were,  relatively  to  their  present 
position.  At  least  she  was  no  longer  the  self-conscious 
schoolgirl,  paid  for  at  a  lower  rate  than  her  compan- 
ions, stinted  in  dress,  pocket-money,  and  education, 
and  fiercely  resentful  at  every  turn  of  some  real  or 
fancied  slur;  she  was  no  longer  even  the  half-Bohe- 
mian student  of  these  past  two  years,  enjoying  herself 
in  London  so  far  as  the  iron  necessity  of  keeping  her 


4  MARCELLA. 

boarding-house  expenses  down  to  the  lowest  possible 
figure  would  allow.  She  was  something  altogether 
different.  She  was  Marcella  Boyce,  a  "finished"  and 
grown-up  young  Avoman  of  twenty-one,  the  only  daugh- 
ter and  child  of  Mr.  Boyce  of  Mellor  Park,  inheritress 
of  one  of  the  most  ancient  names  in  Midland  England, 
and  just  entering  on  a  life  which  to  her  own  fancy 
and  will,  at  any  rate,  promised  the  highest  possible 
degree  of  interest  and  novelty. 

Yet,  in  the  very  act  of  putting  her  past  away  from 
her,  she  only  succeeded,  so  it  seemed,  in  inviting  it  to 
repossess  her. 

For  against  her  will,  she  fell  straightway  —  in  this 
quiet  of  the  autumn  morning  —  into  a  riot  of  memory, 
setting  her  past  self  against  her  present  more  con- 
sciously than  she  had  done  yet,  recalling  scene  after 
scene  and  stage  after  stage  with  feelings  of  sarcasm, 
or  amusement,  or  disgust,  which  showed  themselves 
freely  as  they  came  and  went,  in  the  fine  plastic  face 
turned  to  the  September  woods. 

She  had  been  at  school  since  she  was  nine  years 
old — there  was  the  dominant  fact  in  these  motley 
uncomfortable  years  behind  her,  which,  in  her  young 
ignorance  of  the  irrevocableness  of  living,  she  wished 
so  impatiently  to  forget.  As  to  the  time  before  her 
school  life,  she  had  a  dim  memory  of  seemly  and 
pleasant  things,  of  a  house  in  London,  of  a  large  and 
bright  nursery,  of  a  smiling  mother  who  took  constant 
notice  of  her,  of  games,  little  friends,  and  birthday 
parties.  What  had  led  to  the  complete  disappearance 
of  this  earliest  "  set,"  to  use  a  theatrical  phrase,  from 
the  scenery  of  her  childhood,  Marcella  did  not  yet 


M ABC  ELL  A.  6 

adequately  know,  though  she  had  some  theories  and 
many  suspicions  in  the  background  of  her  mind.  But 
at  any  rate  this  first  image  of  memory  was  succeeded 
by  another  j)recise  as  the  first  was  vague  —  the  image 
of  a  tall  white  house,  set  against  a  white  chalk  cliff 
rising  in  terraces  behind  it  and  alongside  it,  where 
she  had  spent  the  years  from  nine  to  fourteen,  and 
where,  if  she  were  set  down  blindfold,  now,  at  twenty- 
one,  she  could  have  found  her  way  to  every  room 
and  door  and  cupboard  and  stair  with  a  perfect  and 
fascinated  familiarity. 

When  she  entered  that  house  she  was  a  lanky,  black- 
eyed  creature,  tall  for  her  age,  and  endowed  or,  as  she 
herself  would  have  put  it,  cursed  with  an  abundance  of 
curly  unmanageable  hair,  whereof  the  brushing  and 
tending  soon  became  to  a  nervous  clumsy  child,  not 
long  parted  from  her  nurse,  one  of  the  worst  plagues 
of  her  existence.  During  her  home  life  she  had  been 
an  average  child  of  the  quick  and  clever  type,  with 
average  faults.  But  something  in  the  bare,  ugly  rooms, 
the  discipline,  the  teaching,  the  companionship  of  Miss 
Frederick's  Cliff  House  School  for  Young  Ladies, 
transformed  little  Marcella  Boyce,  for  the  time  being, 
into  a  demon.  She  hated  her  lessons,  though,  when 
she  chose,  she  could  do  them  in  a  hundredth  part  of 
the  time  taken  by  her  companions ;  she  hated  getting 
up  in  the  wintry  dark,  and  her  cold  ablutions  with 
some  dozen  others  in  the  comfortless  lavatory ;  she 
hated  the  meals  in  the  long  schoolroom,  where,  because 
twice  meat  was  forbidden  and  twice  pudding  allowed, 
she  invariably  hungered  fiercely  for  more  mutton  and 
scorned  her  second  course,  making  a  sort  of  dramatic 


b  MABCELLA. 

story  to  herself  out  of  Miss  Frederick's  tyranny  and 
her  own  thwarted  appetite  as  she  sat  black-browed 
and  brooding  in  her  place.  She  was  not  a  favourite 
with  her  companions,  and  she  was  a  perpetual  diffi- 
culty and  trouble  to  her  perfectly  well-intentioned 
schoolmistress.  The  whole  of  her  first  year  was  one 
continual  series  of  sulks,  quarrels,  and  revolts. 

Perhaps  her  blackest  days  were  the  days  she  spent 
occasionally  in  bed,  when  Miss  Frederick,  at  her  wit's 
end,  would  take  advantage  of  one  of  the  child's  per- 
petual colds  to  try  the  effects  of  a  day's  seclusion  and 
solitary  confinement,  administered  in  such  a  form  that 
it  could  do  her  charge  no  harm,  and  might,  she  hoped, 
do  her  good.  "  For  I  do  believe  a  great  part  of  it's 
liver  or  nerves !  No  child  in  her  right  senses  could 
behave  so,"  she  would  declare  to  the  mild  and  stout 
French  lady  who  had  been  her  partner  for  years,  and 
who  was  more  inclined  to  befriend  and  excuse  Marcella 
than  any  one  else  in  the  house  —  no  one  exactly  knew 
why. 

Now  the  rule  of  the  house  when  any  girl  was  or- 
dered to  bed  with  a  cold  was,  in  the  first  place,  that 
she  should  not  put  her  arms  outside  the  bedclothes  — 
for  if  you  were  allowed  to  read  and  amuse  yourself 
in  bed  you  might  as  well  be  up ;  that  the  housemaid 
should  visit  the  patient  in  the  early  morning  with  a 
cup  of  senna-tea,  and  at  long  and  regular  intervals 
throughout  the  day  with  beef-tea  and  gruel ;  and  that 
no  one  should  come  to  see  and  talk  with  her,  unless, 
indeed,  it  were  the  doctor,  quiet  being  in  all  cases  of 
sickness  the  first  condition  of  recovery,  and  the  nat- 
ural schoolgirl  in  Miss  Frederick's  persuasion  being 


MAR  CELL  A.  7 

more  or  less  inclined  to  complain  without  cause  if  ill- 
ness were  made  agreeable. 

For  some  fourteen  hours,  therefore,  on  these  days 
of  durance  Marcella  was  left  almost  wholly  alone, 
nothing  but  a  wild  mass  of  black  hair  and  a  pair  of 
roving,  defiant  eyes  in  a  pale  face  showing  above  the 
bedclothes  whenever  the  housemaid  chose  to  visit  her — 
a  pitiable  morsel,  in  truth,  of  rather  forlorn  humanity. 
For  though  she  had  her  movements  of  fierce  revolt, 
when  she  was  within  an  ace  of  throwing  the  semia-tea 
in  Martha's  face,  and  rushing  downstairs  in  her  night- 
gown to  denounce  Miss  Frederick  in  the  midst  of 
an  astonished  schoolroom,  something  generally  inter- 
posed ;  not  conscience,  it  is  to  be  feared,  or  any  wish 
"to  be  good,"  but  only  an  aching,  inmost  sense  of 
childish  loneliness  and  helplessness;  a  perception  that 
she  had  indeed  tried  everybody's  patience  to  the  limit, 
and  that  these  days  in  bed  represented  crises  which 
must  be  borne  with  even  by  such  a  rebel  as  Marcie 
Boyce. 

So  she  submitted,  and  presently  learnt,  under  dire 
stress  of  boredom,  to  amuse  herself  a  good  deal  by  de- 
veloping a  natural  capacity  for  dreaming  awake.  Hour 
by  hour  she  followed  out  an  endless  story  of  which  she 
was  always  the  heroine.  Before  the  annoyance  of  her 
afternoon  gruel,  which  she  loathed,  was  well  forgotten, 
she  was  in  full  fairjMand  again,  figuring  generally  as 
the  trusted  friend  and  companion  of  the  Princess  of 
Wales  —  of  that  beautiful  Alexandra,  the  top  and 
model  of  English  society  whose  portrait  in  the  win- 
dow of  the  little  stationer's  shop  at  Marswell  —  the 
small  country  town  near  Cliff  House  —  had  attracted 


8  MARCELLA. 

the  child's  attention  once,  on  a  dreary  walk,  and  had 
ever  since  governed  her  dreams.  Marcella  had  no 
fairy-tales,  but  she  spun  a  whole  cycle  for  herself 
around  the  lovely  Princess  who  came  to  seem  to  her 
before  long  her  own  particular  property.  She  had 
only  to  shut  her  eyes  and  she  had  caught  her  idol's 
attention — either  by  some  look  or  act  of  passionate 
yet  unobtrusive  homage  as  she  passed  the  royal  car- 
riage in  the  street  —  or  by  throwing  herself  in  front 
of  the  divinity's  runaway  horses  —  or  by  a  series  of 
social  steps  easily  devised  by  an  imaginative  child, 
well  aware,  in  spite  of  appearances,  that  she  was  of 
an  old  family  and  had  aristocratic  relations.  Then, 
when  the  Princess  had  held  out  a  gracious  hand  and 
smiled,  all  was  delight !  Marcella  grew  up  on  the  in- 
stant :  she  was  beautiful,  of  course ;  she  had,  so  people 
said,  the  "  Boyce  eyes  and  hair ; "  she  had  sweeping 
gowns,  generally  of  white  muslin  with  cherry-coloured 
ribbons ;  she  went  here  and  there  with  the  Princess, 
laughing  and  talking  quite  calmly  with  the  greatest 
people  in  the  land,  her  romantic  friendship  with  the 
adored  of  England  making  her  all  the  time  the  ob- 
served of  all  observers,  bringing  her  a  thousand  deli- 
cate flatteries  and  attentions. 

Then,  when  she  was  at  the  very  top  of  ecstasy, 
floating  in  the  softest  summer  sea  of  fancy,  some 
little  noise  would  startle  her  into  opening  her  eyes, 
and  there  beside  her  in  the  deepening  dusk  would  be 
the  bare  white  beds  of  her  two  dormitory  companions, 
the  ugly  wall-paper  opposite,  and  the  uncovered  boards 
with  their  frugal  strips  of  carpet  stretching  away  on 
either  hand.     The  tea-bell  would  ring  perhaps  in  the 


MABCELLA.  9 

depths  far  below,  and  the  sound  would  complete  the 
transformation  of  the  Princess's  maid-of-honour  into 
Marcie  Boyce,  the  plain  naughty  child,  whom  nobody 
cared  about,  whose  mother  never  wrote  to  her,  who  in 
contrast  to  every  other  girl  in  the  school  had  not  a 
single  '"'party  frock,"  and  who  would  have  to  choose 
next  morning  between  another  dumb  day  of  senna-tea 
and  gruel,  supposing  she  chose  to  plead  that  her  cold 
was  still  obstinate,  or  getting  up  at  half-past  six  to 
repeat  half  a  page  of  Ince's  "  Outlines  of  English  His- 
tory "  in  the  chilly  schoolroom,  at  seven. 

Looking  back  now  as  from  another  world  on  that 
unkempt  fractious  Marcie  of  Cliff  House,  the  Marcella 
of  the  present  saw  with  a  mixture  of  amusement  and 
self-pity  that  one  great  aggravation  of  that  child's 
daily  miseries  had  been  a  certain  injured,  irritable 
sense  of  social  difference  between  herself  and  her  com- 
panions. Some  proportion  of  the  girls  at  Cliff  House 
were  drawn  from  the  tradesman  class  of  two  or  three 
neighbouring  towns.  Their  tradesmen  papas  were 
sometimes  ready  to  deal  on  favourable  terms  with 
Miss  Frederick  for  the  supply  of  her  establishment ; 
in  which  case  the  young  ladies  concerned  evidently 
felt  themselves  very  much  at  home,  and  occasionally 
gave  themselves  airs  which  alternately  mystified  and 
enraged  a  little  spitfire  outsider  like  Marcella  Boyce. 
Even  at  ten  years  old  she  perfectly  understood  that 
she  was  one  of  the  Boyces  of  Brookshire,  and  that  her 
great-uncle  had  been  a  famous  Speaker  of  the  House 
of  Commons.  The  portrait  of  this  great-uncle  had 
hung  in  the  dining  room  of  that  pretty  London  house 
which  now  seemed  so  far  away ;  her  father  had  again 


10  MAECELLA. 

and  again  pointed  it  out  to  the  child,  and  taught  her 
to  be  proud  of  it;  and  more  than  once  her  childish 
eye  had  been  caught  by  the  likeness  between  it  and  an 
old  grey-haired  gentleman  who  occasionally  came  to 
see  them,  and  whom  she  called  "  Grandpapa."  Through 
one  influence  and  another  she  had  dra-wn  the  glory  of 
it,  and  the  dignity  of  her  race  generally,  into  her 
childish  blood.  There  they  were  now  —  the  glory 
and  the  dignity  —  a  feverish  leaven,  driving  her  per- 
petually into  the  most  crude  and  ridiculous  outbreaks, 
which  could  lead  to  nothing  but  humiliation. 

*'I  wish  my  great-uncle  were  here  !  He\l  make  you 
remember  —  you  great  —  you  great — big  bully  you ! "  — 
she  shrieked  on  one  occasion  Avhen  she  had  been  defy- 
ing a  big  girl  in  authority,  and  the  big  girl  —  the 
stout  and  comely  daughter  of  a  local  ironmonger  — 
had  been  successfully  asserting  herself. 

The  big  girl  opened  her  eyes  wide  and  laughed. 

*'  Your  great-uncle  !  Upon  my  word !  And  who 
may  he  be,  miss  ?  If  it  comes  to  that,  I'd  like  to 
show  my  great-uncle  David  how  you've  scratched  my 
wrist.  He'd  give  it  you.  He's  almost  as  strong  as 
father,  though  he  is  so  old.  You  get  along  with  you, 
and  behave  yourself,  and  don't  talk  stuff  to  me." 

Whereupon  Marcella,  choking  with  rage  and  tears, 
found  herself  pushed  out  of  the  schoolroom  and  the 
door  shut  upon  her.  She  rushed  up  to  the  top  terrace, 
which  was  the  school  playground,  and  sat  there  in  a 
hidden  niche  of  the  wall,  shaking  and  crying, — now 
planning  vengeance  on  her  conqueror,  and  now  hot 
all  over  with  the  recollection  of  her  own  ill-bred  and 
impotent  folly. 


MAECELLA.  11 

No — during  those  first  two  years  the  only  pleas- 
ures, so  memory  declared,  were  three :  the  visits  of 
the  cake-woman  on  Saturday  —  Marcella  sitting  in  her 
window  could  still  taste  the  three-cornered  puffs  and 
small  sweet  pears  on  which,  as  much  from  a  fierce  sense 
of  freedom  and  self-assertion  as  anjrthing  else,  she  had 
lavished  her  tiny  weekly  allowance ;  the  mad  games 
of  "tig,"  which  she  led  and  organised  in  the  top 
playground;  and  the  kindnesses  of  fat  Mademoiselle 
Renier,  Miss  Frederick's  partner,  who  saw  a  likeness 
in  Marcella  to  a  long-dead  small  sister  of  her  own, 
and  surreptitiously  indulged  "the  little  wild-cat,"  as 
the  school  generally  dubbed  the  Speaker's  great-niece, 
whenever  she  could. 

But  with  the  third  year  fresh  elements  and  interests 
had  entered  in.  Romance  awoke,  and  with  it  certain 
sentimental  affections.  In  the  first  place,  a  taste  for 
reading  had  rooted  itself  —  reading  of  the  adventur- 
ous and  poetical  kind.  There  were  two  or  three 
books  which  Marcella  had  absorbed  in  a  way  it  now 
made  her  envious  to  remember.  For  at  twenty-one 
people  who  take  interest  in  many  things,  and  are  in  a 
hurry  to  have  opinions,  must  skim  and  "turn  over" 
books  rather  than  read  them,  must  use  indeed  as  best 
they  may  a  scattered  and  distracted  mind,  and  suffer 
occasional  pangs  of  conscience  as  pretenders.  But  at 
thirteen  —  what  concentration!  what  devotion!  what 
joy!  One  of  these  precious  volumes  was  Bulwer's 
"Rienzi";  another  was  Miss  Porter's  "Scottish 
Chiefs";  a  third  was  a  little  red  volume  of  "Mar- 
mion  "  which  an  aunt  had  given  her.  She  probably 
never   read   any  of  them   through  —  she  had  not  a 


12  MAECELLA. 

particle  of  industry  or  method  in  her  composition  — 
but  she  lived  in  them.  The  x^arts  which  it  bored  her 
to  read  she  easily  invented  for  herself,  but  the  scenes 
and  passages  which  thrilled  her  she  knew  by  heart ; 
she  had  no  gift  for  verse-making,  but  she  laboriously 
wrote  a  long  poem  on  the  death  of  Rienzi,  and  she 
tried  again  and  again  with  a  not  inapt  hand  to  illus- 
trate for  herself  in  pen  and  ink  the  execution  of 
Wallace. 

But  all  these  loves  for  things  and  ideas  were  soon 
as  nothing  in  comparison  with  a  friendship,  and  an 
adoration. 

To  take  the  adoration  first.  When  Marcella  came 
to  Cliff  House  she  was  recommended  by  the  same  rela- 
tion who  gave  her  "  Marmion  "  to  the  kind  offices  of 
the  clergyman  of  the  parish,  who  happened  to  be 
known  to  some  of  the  Boyce  family.  He  and  his 
wife  —  they  had  no  children  —  did  their  duty  amply 
by  the  odd  undisciplined  child.  They  asked  her  to 
tea  once  or  twice ;  they  invited  her  to  the  school-treat, 
where  she  was  only  self-conscious  and  miserably  shy; 
and  Mr.  Ellerton  had  at  least  one  friendly  and  pastoral 
talk  with  Miss  Frederick  as  to  the  difficulties  of  her 
pupil's  character.  For  a  long  time  little  came  of  it. 
Marcella  was  hard  to  tame,  and  when  she  Avent  to  tea 
at  the  Bectory  Mrs.  Ellerton,  who  was  refined  and 
sensible,  did  not  know  what  to  make  of  her,  though 
in  some  unaccountable  way  she  was  drawn  to  and 
interested  by  the  child.  But  wdth  the  expansion  of 
her  thirteenth  year  there  suddenly  developed  in  Mar- 
cie's  stormy  breast  an  overmastering  absorbing  passion 
for  these  two  persons.     She  did  not  shoAv  it  to  them 


MAR  CELL  A.  13 

much,  but  for  herself  it  raised  her  to  another  plane  of 
existence,  gave  her  new  objects  and  new  standards. 
She  who  had  hated  going  to  church  now  counted  time 
entirely  by  Sundays.  To  see  the  pulpit  occupied  by 
any  other  form  and  face  than  those  of  the  rector  was 
a  calamity  hardly  to  be  borne  ;  if  the  exit  of  the  school 
party  were  delayed  by  any  accident  so  that  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Ellerton  overtook  them  in  the  churchyard,  Mar- 
cella  would  walk  home  on  air,  quivering  with  a  pas- 
sionate delight,  and  in  the  dreary  afternoon  of  the 
school  Sunday  she  would  spend  her  time  happily  in 
trying  to  write  down  the  heads  of  Mr.  Ellerton' s  ser- 
mon. In  the  natural  course  of  things  she  would,  at 
this  time,  have  taken  no  interest  in  such  things  at  all, 
but  whatever  had  been  spoken  by  him  had  grace, 
thrill,  meaning. 

Nor  was  the  week  quite  barren  of  similar  delights. 
She  was  generally  sent  to  practise  on  an  old  square 
piano  in  one  of  the  top  rooms.  The  window  in  front 
of  her  overlooked  the  long  white  drive  and  the  distant 
high  road  into  which  it  ran.  Three  times  a  week  on 
an  average  Mrs.  Ellerton's  pony  carriage  might  be 
expected  to  pass  along  that  road.  Every  day  Mar- 
cella  watched  for  it,  alive  with  expectation,  her  fingers 
strumming  as  they  pleased.  Then  with  the  first  gleam 
of  the  white  pony  in  the  distance,  over  would  go  the 
music  stool,  and  the  child  leapt  to  the  window,  remain- 
ing fixed  there,  breathing  quick  and  eagerly  till  the 
trees  on  the  left  had  hidden  from  her  the  graceful 
erect  figure  of  Mrs.  Ellerton.  Then  her  moment  of 
Paradise  was  over ;  but  the  afterglow  of  it  lasted  for 
the  day. 


14  MARCELLA. 

So  much  for  romance,  for  feelings  as  much  like 
love  as  childhood  can  kno^y  them,  full  of  kindling 
charm  and  mystery.  Her  friendship  had  been  of 
course  different,  but  it  also  left  deep  mark.  A  tall, 
consumptive  girl  among  the  Clitf  House  pupils,  the 
motherless  daughter  of  a  clergyman-friend  of  Miss 
Frederick's,  had  for  some  time  taken  notice  of  Mar- 
cella,  and  at  length  won  her  by  nothing  else,  in  the 
first  instance,  than  a  remarkable  gift  for  story-telling. 
She  was  a  parlour-boarder,  had  a  room  to  herself,  and 
a  fire  in  it  when  the  weather  was  cold.  She  was  not 
held  strictly  to  lesson  hours ;  many  delicacies  in  the 
way  of  food  Avere  provided  for  her,  and  Miss  Frederick 
watched  over  her  with  a  quite  maternal  solicitude. 
When  winter  came  she  developed  a  troublesome  cough, 
and  the  doctor  recommended  that  a  little  suite  of 
rooms  looking  south  and  leading  out  on  the  middle 
terrace  of  the  garden  should  be  given  up  to  her. 
There  was  a  bedroom,  an  intermediate  dressing-room, 
and  then  a  little  sitting-room  built  out  upon  the 
terrace,  with  a  window-door  opening  upon  it. 

Here  Mary  Lant  spent  week  after  week.  When- 
ever lesson  hours  were  done  she  clamoured  for  Marcie 
Boyce,  and  Marcella  was  always  eager  to  go  to  her. 
She  would  fly  up  stairs  and  passages,  knock  at  the 
bedroom  door,  run  down  the  steps  to  the  queer  little 
dressing-room  where  the  roof  nearly  came  on  your 
head,  and  down  more  steps  again  to  the  sitting-room. 
Then  when  the  door  was  shut,  and  she  was  crooning 
over  the  fire  with  her  friend,  she  was  entirely  happy. 
The  tiny  room  was  built  on  the  edge  of  the  terrace, 
the  ground  fell  rapidly  below  it,  and  the  west  window 


MARCELLA.  15 

commanded  a  broad  expanse  of  tame  arable  country, 
of  square  fields  and  hedges,  and  scattered  wood. 
Marcella,  looking  back  ui3on  that  room,  seemed  always 
to  see  it  flooded  with  the  rays  of  wintry  sunset,  a 
kettle  boiling  on  the  fire,  her  pale  friend  in  a  shawl 
crouching  over  the  warmth,  and  the  branches  of  a 
snowberry  tree,  driven  by  the  wind,  beating  against 
the  terrace  door. 

But  what  a  story-teller  was  Mary  Lant !  She  was 
the  inventor  of  a  story  called  "  John  and  Julia,"  which 
went  on  for  weeks  and  months  without  ever  producing 
the  smallest  satiety  in  Marcella.  Unlike  her  books 
of  adventure,  this  was  a  domestic  drama  of  the  purest 
sort ;  it  was  extremely  moral  and  evangelical,  designed 
indeed  by  its  sensitively  religious  author  for  Marcie's 
correction  and  improvement.  There  was  in  it  a  sub- 
lime hero,  who  set  everybody's  faults  to  rights  and 
lectured  the  heroine.  In  real  life  Marcella  would 
probably  before  long  have  been  found  trying  to  kick 
his  shins  —  a  mode  of  warfare  of  which  in  her  demon 
moods  she  was  past  mistress.  But  as  Mary  Lant 
described  him,  she  not  only  bore  with  and  trembled 
before  him  —  she  adored  him.  The  taste  for  him  and 
his  like,  as  well  as  for  the  story-teller  herself  —  a  girl 
of  a  tremulous,  melancholy  fibre,  sweet-natured,  pos- 
sessed by  a  Calvinist  faith,  and  already  prescient  of 
death  —  grew  upon  her.  Soon  her  absorbing  desire 
was  to  be  altogether  shut  up  with  Mary,  except  on 
Sundays  and  at  practising  times.  For  this  purpose 
she  gave  herself  the  worst  cold  she  could  achieve,  and 
cherished  diligently  what  she  proudlj^  considered  to 
be  a  racking  cough.     But  Miss  Frederick  was  deaf 


16  MAR  CELL  A. 

to  the  latter,  and  only  threatened  the  usual  upstairs 
seclusion  and  senna-tea  for  the  former,  whereupon 
Marcella  in  alarm  declared  that  her  cold  was  much 
better  and  gave  up  the  cough  in  despair.  It  was  her 
first  sorrow  and  cost  her  some  days  of  i)ale  brooding 
and  silence,  and  some  nights  of  stifled  tears,  when 
during  an  Easter  holiday  a  letter  from  Miss  Frederick 
to  her  mother  announced  the  sudden  death  of  Mary 
Lant. 


CHAPTER   11. 

Friendship  and  love  are  humanisiag  things,  and  by 
her  fourteenth  year  Marcella  was  no  longer  a  clever 
'little  imp,  but  a  fast-maturing  and  in  some  ways 
remarkable  girl,  with  much  of  the  woman  in  her 
already.  She  had  begun  even  to  feel  an  interest  in 
her  dress,  to  speculate  occasionally  on  her  appearance. 
At  the  fourth  breaking-up  party  after  her  arrival  at 
Cliff  House,  Marcella,  who  had  usually  figured  on  these 
occasions  in  a  linsey-woolsey  high  to  the  throat,  amid 
the  frilled  and  sashed  splendours  of  her  companions, 
found  lying  on  her  bed,  when  she  went  up  with  the 
others  to  dress,  a  plain  white  muslin  dress  with  blue 
ribbons.  It  was  the  gift  of  old  Mademoiselle  Renier, 
who  affectionately  wished  her  queer,  neglected  favour- 
ite to  look  well.  Marcella  examined  it  and  fingered  it 
with  an  excited  mixture  of  feelings.  First  of  all  there 
was  the  sore  and  swelling  bitterness  that  she  should 
owe  such  things  to  the  kindness  of  the  French  gover- 
ness, whereas  finery  for  the  occasion  had  been  freely 
sent  to  all  the  other  girls  from  "home."  She  very 
nearly  turned  her  back  upon  the  bed  and  its  pretty 
burden.  But  then  the  mere  snowy  whiteness  of  the 
muslin  and  freshness  of  the  ribbons,  and  the  burning 
curiosity  to  see  herself  decked  therein,  overcame  a 
nature  which,  in  the  midst  of  its  penury,  had  been 
VOL.  I.  — 2  17 


18  MABCELLA. 

always  really  possessed  by  a  more  than  common  hunger 
for  sensuous  beauty  and  seemliness.  Marcella  wore 
it,  was  stormily  happy  in  it,  and  kissed  Mademoiselle 
Renier  for  it  at  night  with  an  effusion,  nay,  some  tears, 
which  no  one  at  Cliff  House  had  ever  witnessed  in  her 
before  except  with  the  accompaniments  of  rage  and 
fury. 

A  little  later  her  father  came  to  see  her,  the  first 
and  only  visit  he  paid  to  her  at  school.  Marcella,  to 
whom  he  was  by  now  almost  a  stranger,  received  him 
demurely,  making  no  confidences,  and  took  him  over 
the  house  and  gardens.  When  he  was  about  to  leave 
her  a  sudden  upswell  of  paternal  sentiment  made  him 
ask  her  if  she  was  happy  and  if  she  wanted  anything. 

"  Yes ! "  said  Marcella,  her  large  eyes  gleaming ; 
"  tell  mamma  I  want  a  '  fringe.'  Every  other  girl  in 
the  school  has  got  one." 

And  she  pointed  disdainfully  to  her  plainly  parted 
hair.  Her  father,  astonished  by  her  unexpected  vehe- 
mence, put  up  his  eyeglass  and  studied  the  child's 
appearance.  Three  days  later,  by  her  mother's  per- 
mission, Marcella  was  taken  to  the  hairdresser  at 
Marswell  by  Mademoiselle  Eenier,  returned  in  all  the 
glories  of  a  "  fringe,"  and,  in  acknowledgment  thereof, 
wrote  her  mother  a  letter  which  for  the  first  time  had 
something  else  than  formal  news  in  it. 

Meanwhile  new  destinies  were  preparing  for  her. 
For  a  variety  of  small  reasons  Mr.  Boyce,  who  had 
never  yet  troubled  himself  about  the  matter  from  a 
distance,  was  not,  upon  personal  inspection,  very 
favourably  struck  with  his  daughter's  surroundings. 
His  wife  remarked  shortly,  when  he  complained  to 


MABCELLA.  19 

her,  that  Marcella  seemed  to  her  as  well  off  as  the 
daughter  of  persons  of  their  means  could  expect  to  be. 
But  Mr.  Boyce  stuck  to  his  point.  He  had  just  learnt 
that  Harold,  the  only  son  of  his  widowed  brother  Eob- 
ert,  of  Mellor  Park,  had  recently  developed  a  deadly 
disease,  which  might  be  long,  but  must  in  the  end  be 
sure.  If  the  young  man  died  and  he  outlived  Eobert, 
Mellor  Park  would  be  his ;  they  would  and  must 
return,  in  spite  of  certain  obstacles,  to  their  natural 
rank  in  society,  and  Marcella  must  of  course  be  pro- 
duced as  his  daughter  and  heiress.  When  his  wife 
repulsed  him,  he  went  to  his  eldest  sister,  an  old  maid 
with  a  small  income  of  her  own,  who  happened  to  be 
staying  with  them,  and  was  the  only  member  of  his 
family  with  whom  he  was  now  on  terms.  She  was 
struck  with  his  remarks,  which  bore  on  family  pride, 
a  commodity  not  always  to  be  reckoned  on  in  the 
Boyces,  but  which  she  herself  possessed  in  abundance ; 
and  when  he  paused  she  slowly  said  that  if  an  ideal 
school  of  another  type  could  be  found  for  Marcella, 
she  would  be  responsible  for  what  it  might  cost  over 
and  above  the  present  arrangement.  Marcella's  man- 
ners were  certainly  rough ;  it  was  difficult  to  say  what 
she  was  learning,  or  with  whom  she  was  associating ; 
accomplishments  she  appeared  to  have  none.  Some- 
thing should  certainly  be  done  for  her  —  considering 
the  family  contingencies.  But  being  a  strong  evan- 
gelical, the  aunt  stipulated  for  "  religious  influences," 
and  said  she  would  write  to  a  friend. 

The  result  was  that  a  month  or  two  later  Marcella, 
now  close  on  her  fourteenth  birthday,  was  transferred 
from  Cliff  House  to  the  charge  of  a  lady  who  man- 


20  MARCELLA. 

aged  a  small  but  much-sought-after  school  for  young 
ladies  at  Solesby,  a  watering  place  on  the  east  coast. 

But  when  in  the  course  of  reminiscence  Marcella 
found  herself  once  more  at  Solesby,  memory  began  to 
halt  and  wander,  to  choose  another  tone  and  method. 
At  Solesby  the  rough  surroundings  and  primitive 
teaching  of  Cliff  House,  together  with  her  own  burn- 
ing sense  of  inferiority  and  disadvantage,  had  troubled 
her  no  more.  She  was  well  taught  there,  and  de- 
veloped quickly  from  the  troublesome  child  into  the 
young  lady  duly  broken  in  to  all  social  proprieties. 
But  it  was  not  her  lessons  or  her  dancing  masters  that 
she  remembered.  She  had  made  for  herself  agitations 
at  Cliff  House,  but  wdiat  w^ere  they  as  compared  to  the 
agitations  of  Solesby  !  Life  there  had  been  one  long 
Wertherish  romance  in  which  there  were  few  incidents, 
only  feelings,  w^hich  were  themselves  events.  It  con- 
tained humiliations  and  pleasures,  but  they  had  been 
all  matters  of  spiritual  relation,  connected  with  one 
hgure  only  —  the  figure  of  her  schoolmistress.  Miss 
Pemberton  ;  and  with  one  emotion  only — a  passion,  an 
adoration,  akin  to  that  she  had  lavished  on  the  Eller- 
tons,  but  now  much  more  expressive  and  mature.  A 
tall  slender  woman  with  brown,  grey-besprinkled  hair 
falling  in  light  curls  after  the  fashion  of  our  grand- 
mothers on  either  cheek,  and  braided  into  a  classic 
knot  behind  —  the  face  of  a  saint,  an  enthusiast  —  eyes 
overflowing  with  feeling  above  a  thin  firm  mouth  — 
the  mouth  of  the  obstinate  saint,  yet  sweet  also  :  this 
delicate  significant  picture  was  stamped  on  Marcella's 
heart.     What  tremors  of  fear  and  joy  could  she  not 


MAR  CELL  A.  21 

remember  in  connection  with  it?  what  night-vigils 
when  a  tired  girl  kept  herself  through  long  hours 
awake  that  she  might  see  at  last  the  door  open  and  a 
figure  with  a  night-lamp  standing  an  instant  in  the 
doorway  ?  —  for  Miss  Pemberton,  who  slept  little  and 
read  late,  never  went  to  rest  without  softly  going  the 
rounds  of  her  j^upils'  rooms.  What  storms  of  con- 
test, mainly  provoked  b}^  Marcella  for  the  sake  of  the 
emotions,  first  of  combat,  then  of  reconciliation  to 
which  they  led  !  What  a  strange  development  on  the 
pupil's  side  of  a  certain  histrionic  gift,  a  turn  for 
imaginative  intrigue,  for  endless  small  contrivances 
such  as  might  rouse  or  heighten  the  recurrent  excite- 
ments of  feeling  !  What  agitated  moments  of  relig- 
ious talk !  What  golden  dsijs  in  the  holidays,  when 
long-looked-for  letters  arrived  full  of  religious  admo- 
nition, letters  Avhich  were  carried  about  and  wept 
over  till  they  fell  to  pieces  under  the  stress  of  such  a 
worship  —  what  terrors  and  agonies  of  a  stimulated 
conscience  —  what  remorse  for  sins  committed  at 
school  —  what  zeal  to  confess  them  in  letters  of  a 
passionate  eloquence  —  and  what  indifference  mean- 
while to  anything  of  the  same  sort  that  might  have 
happened  at  home ! 

Strange  faculty  that  women  have  for  thus  lavishiug 
their  heart's  blood  from  their  very  cradles  !  Marcella 
could  hardly  look  back  now,  in  the  quiet  of  thought, 
to  her  five  years  with  Miss  Pemberton  without  a 
shiver  of  agitation.  Yet  now  she  never  saw  her.  It 
was  two  years  since  they  parted;  the  school  was 
broken  up;  her  idol  had  gone  to  India  to  join  a 
widowed  brother.     It  was  all  over  —  for  ever.     Those 


22  MARCELLA. 

precious  letters  had  worn  themselves  away;  so,  too, 
had  Marcella's  religious  feelings ;  she  was  once  more 
another  being. 

But  these  two  years  since  she  had  said  good-bye  to 
Solesby  and  her  school  days  ?  Once  set  thinking  of 
bygones  by  the  stimulus  of  Mellor  and  its  novelty, 
Marcella  must  needs  think,  too,  of  her  London  life, 
of  all  that  it  had  opened  to  her,  and  meant  for  her. 
Fresh  agitations!  —  fresh  passions!  —  but  this  time 
impersonal,  passions  of  the  mind  and  sympathies. 

At  the  time  she  left  Solesby  her  father  and  mother 
were  abroad,  and  it  was  apparently  not  convenient 
that  she  should  join  them.  Marcella,  looking  back, 
could  not  remember  that  she  had  ever  been  much 
desired  at  home.  No  doubt  she  had  been  often  moody 
and  tiresome  in  the  holidays ;  but  she  suspected  — 
nay,  was  certain  —  that  there  had  been  other  and 
more  permanent  reasons  why  her  parents  felt  her 
presence  with  them  a  burden.  At  any  rate,  when  the 
moment  came  for  her  to  leave  Miss  Pemberton,  her 
mother  wrote  from  abroad  that,  as  Marcella  had  of 
late  shown  decided  aptitude  both  for  music  and  paint- 
ing, it  would  be  well  that  she  should  cultivate  both 
gifts  for  a  while  more  seriously  than  would  be  possi- 
ble at  home.  Mrs.  Boyce  had  made  inquiries,  and  was 
quite  willing  that  her  daughter  should  go,  for  a  time, 
to  a  lady  whose  address  she  enclosed,  and  to  whom 
she  herself  had  written  —  a  lady  who  received  girl- 
students  working  at  the  South  Kensington  art  classes. 

So  began  an  experience,  as  novel  as  it  was  stren- 
uous.    Marcella  soon  developed  all  the  airs  of  inde- 


MARCELLA.  28 

pendence  and  all  the  jargon  of  two  professions. 
Working  with  consuming  energy  and  ambition,  she 
pushed  her  gifts  so  far  as  to  become  at  least  a  very 
intelligent,  eager,  and  confident  critic  of  the  art  of 
other  people  —  which  is  much.  But  though  art  stirred 
and  trained  her,  gave  her  new  horizons  and  new  stan- 
dards, it  was  not  in  art  that  she  found  ultimately  the 
chief  excitement  and  motive-power  of  her  new  life  — 
not  in  art,  but  in  the  birth  of  social  and  philanthropic 
ardour,  the  sense  of  a  hitherto  unsuspected  social 
power. 

One  of  her  girl-friends  and  fellow-students  had  two 
brothers  in  London,  both  at  work  at  South  Kensington, 
and  living  not  far  from  their  sister.  The  three  were 
orphans.  They  sprang  from  a  nervous,  artistic  stock, 
and  Marcella  had  never  before  come  near  any  one 
capable  of  crowding  so  much  living  into  the  twenty- 
four  hours.  The  two  brothers,  both  of  them  skilful 
and  artistic  designers  in  different  lines,  and  hard  at 
work  all  day,  were  members  of  a  rising  Socialist 
society,  and  spent  their  evenings  almost  entirely  on 
various  forms  of  social  effort  and  Socialist  propa- 
ganda. They  seemed  to  Marcella's  young  eyes  abso- 
lutely sincere  and  quite  unworldly.  They  lived  as 
workmen ;  and  both  the  luxuries  and  the  charities  of 
the  rich  were  equally  odious  to  them.  That  there 
could  be  any  "  right "  in  private  property  or  private 
wealth  had  become  incredible  to  them ;  their  minds 
were  full  of  lurid  images  or  resentments  drawn  from 
the  existing  state  of  London;  and  though  one  was 
humorous  and  handsome,  the  other,  short,  sickly,  and 
pedantic,  neither  could  discuss  the  Socialist  ideal  with- 


24  MABCELLA. 

out  passion,  nor  hear  it  attacked  without  anger.  And 
in  milder  measure  their  sister,  who  possessed  more 
artistic  gift  than  either  of  them,  was  like  unto  them. 

Marcella  saw  much  of  these  three  persons,  and  some- 
thing of  their  friends.  She  went  with  them  to  Socialist 
lectures,  or  to  the  public  evenings  of  the  Venturist 
Society,  to  wliich  the  brothers  belonged.  Edie,  the 
sister,  assaulted  the  imagination  of  her  friend,  made 
her  read  the  books  of  a  certain  eminent  poet  and  artist, 
once  the  poet  of  love  and  dreamland,  "  the  idle  singer 
of  an  empty  day,"  now  seer  and  prophet,  the  herald  of 
an  age  to  come,  in  which  none  shall  possess,  though  all 
shall  enjoy.  The  brothers,  more  ambitious,  attacked 
her  through  the  reason,  brought  her  popular  transla- 
tions and  selections  from  Marx  and  Lassalle,  together 
with  each  Venturist  pamphlet  and  essay  as  it  appeared ; 
they  flattered  her  Avith  technical  talk  ;  they  were  full 
of  the  importance  of  women  to  the  new  doctrine  and 
the  new  era. 

The  handsome  brother  was  certainly  in  love  with 
her;  the  other,  probably.  Marcella  was  not  in  love 
with  either  of  them,  but  she  was  deeply  interested  in 
all  three,  and  for  the  sickly  brother  she  felt  at  that 
time  a  profound  admiration  —  nay,  reverence  —  which 
influenced  her  vitally  at  a  critical  moment  of  life. 
"  Blessed  are  the  poor  "  —  "  Woe  unto  you,  rich  men  " 
—  these  were  the  only  articles  of  his  scanty  creed,  but 
they  were  held  with  a  fervour,  and  acted  upon  with  a 
conviction,  which  our  modern  religion  seldom  com- 
mands. His  influence  made  Marcella  a  rent-collector 
under  a  lady  friend  of  his  in  the  East  End ;  because 
of  it,  she  worked  herself   beyond   her  strength  in  a 


MAECELLA.  25 

joint  attempt  made  by  some  members  of  the  Venturist 
Society  to  organise  a  Tailoresses'  Union  ;  and,  to  please 
him,  she  read  articles  and  blue-books  on  Sweating  and 
Overcrowding.  It  was  all  very  moving  and  very  dra- 
matic ;  so,  too,  was  the  persuasion  Marcella  divined  in 
her  friends,  that  she  was  destined  in  time,  with  work 
and  experience,  to  great  things  and  high  place  in  the 
movement. 

The  wholly  unexpected  news  of  Mr.  Boyce's  acces- 
sion to  Mellor  had  very  various  effects  upon  this  little 
band  of  comrades.  It  revived  in  Marcella  ambitions, 
instincts  and  tastes  wholl}^  different  from  those  of  her 
companions,  but  natural  to  her  by  temperament  and 
inheritance.  The  elder  brother,  Anthony  Craven, 
always  melancholy  and  suspicious,  divined  her  im- 
mediately. 

"  How  glad  you  are  to  be  done  with  Bohemia !  '^  he 
said  to  her  ironically  one  day,  when  he  had  just  dis- 
covered her  with  the  photographs  of  Mellor  about  her. 
"  And  how  rapidly  it  works  !  " 

^' What  works  ?  "  she  asked  him  angrily. 

"  The  poison  of  possession.  And  what  a  mean  end 
it  puts  to  things  !  A  week  ago  you  were  all  given  to 
causes  not  your  own ;  now,  how  long  will  it  take  you 
to  think  of  us  as  'poor  fanatics!' — and  to  be  ashamed 
you  ever  knew  us  ?  " 

"  You  mean  to  say  that  I  am  a  mean  hypocrite  ! " 
she  cried.  "Do  you  think  that  because  I  delight  in  — 
in  pretty  things  and  old  associations,  I  must  give  up 
all  my  convictions  ?  Shall  I  find  no  poor  at  jMellor 
—  no  work  to  do  ?  It  is  unkind  —  unfair.  It  is 
the  way  all  reform  breaks  down  —  through  mutual 
distrust ! " 


26  MARCEL  LA. 

He  looked  at  her  with,  a  cold  smile  in  his  dark, 
sunken  eyes,  and  she  tnrned  from  him  indignantly. 

When  they  bade  her  good-bye  at  the  station,  she 
begged  them  to  write  to  her. 

'^  jSTo,  no ! "  said  Louis,  the  handsome  younger 
brother.  "If  ever  you  want  us,  we  are  there.  If 
you  write,  we  will  answer.  But  you  won't  need  to 
think  about  us  yet  awhile.     Good-bye ! " 

And  he  pressed  her  hand  with  a  smile. 

The  good  fellow  had  put  all  his  own  dreams  and 
hopes  out  of  sight  with  a  firm  hand  since  the  arrival 
of  her  great  news.  Indeed,  Marcella  realised  in  them 
all  that  she  was  renounced.  Louis  and  Edith  spoke 
with  affection  and  regret.  As  to  Anthony,  from  the 
moment  that  he  set  eyes  upon  the  maid  sent  to  escort 
her  to  Mellor,  and  the  first-class  ticket  that  had  been 
purchased  for  her,  Marcella  perfectly  understood  that 
she  had  become  to  him  as  an  enemy. 

"  They  shall  see  —  I  will  show  them ! ''  she  said  to 
herself  with  angry  energy,  as  the  train  whirled  her 
away.  And  her  sense  of  their  unwarrantable  injus- 
tice kept  her  tense  and  silent  till  she  was  roused  to  a 
childish  and  passionate  pleasure  by  a  first  sight  of  the 
wide  lawns  and  time-stained  front  of  Mellor. 

Of  such  elements,  such  memories  of  persons,  things, 
and  events,  was  Marcella's  reverie  by  the  window 
made  up.  One  thing,  however,  which,  clearly,  this 
report  of  it  has  not  explained,  is  that  spirit  of  ener- 
getic discontent  with  her  past  in  which  she  had  en- 
tered on  her  musings.  Why  such  soreness  of  spirit  ? 
Her  childhood  had  been  pinched  and  loveless;    but. 


MABCELLA.  27 

after  all,  it  could  well  bear  comparison  with,  that  of 
many  another  child  of  impoverished  parents.  There 
had  been  compensations  all  through  —  and  were  not 
the  great  passion  of  her  Solesby  days,  together  with 
the  interest  and  novelty  of  her  London  experience, 
enough  to  give  zest  and  glow  to  the  whole  retrospect  ? 
Ah !  but  it  will  be  observed  that  in  this  sketch  of 
Marcella's  schooldays  nothing  has  been  said  of  Mar- 
cella's  holidays.  In  this  omission  the  narrative  has 
but  followed  the  hasty,  half-conscious  gaps  and  slurs 
of  the  girl's  own  thought.  For  Marcella  never  thought 
of  those  holidays  and  all  that  was  connected  with  them 
in  detail,  if  she  could  possibly  avoid  it.  But  it  was 
with  them,  in  truth,  and  with  what  they  implied,  that 
she  was  so  irritably  anxious  to  be  done  when  she. first 
began  to  be  reflective  by  the  window ;  and  it  was  to 
them  she  returned  with  vague,  but  still  intense  con- 
sciousness when  the  rush  of  active  reminiscence  died 
away. 

That  surely  was  the  breakfast  bell  ringing,  and  with 
the  dignified  ancestral  sound  which  was  still  so  novel 
and  attractive  to  Marcella's  ear.  Kecalled  to  Mellor 
Park  and  its  circumstances,  she  went  thoughtfully 
downstairs,  pondering  a  little  on  the  shallow  steps  of 
the  beautiful  Jacobean  staircase.  Could  she  ever  turn 
her  back  upon  those  holidays  ?  Was  she  not  rather, 
so  to  speak,  just  embarked  upon  their  sequel,  or 
second  volume  ? 

But  let  us  go  downstairs  also. 


CHAPTER   III. 

Breakfast  was  laid  in  the  ''  Cliiuese  room,"  a  room 
which,  formed  part  of  the  stately  ^^  garden  front,"  added 
to  the  original  structure  of  the  house  in  the  eighteenth 
century  by  a  Boyce  whose  wife  had  money.  The  deco- 
rations, especially  of  the  domed  and  vaulted  roof,  were 
supposed  by  their  eighteenth  century  designer  to  be 
"  Oriental "  ;  they  were,  at  any  rate,  intricate  and  over- 
laden ;  and  the  figures  of  mandarins  on  the  worn  and 
discoloured  wall-paper  had,  at  least,  top-knots,  pig- 
tails, and  petticoats  to  distinguish  them  from  the  or- 
dinary Englishmen  of  1760,  besides  a  charming  mel- 
lowness of  colour  and  general  effect  bestowed  on  them 
by  time  and  dilapidation.  The  marble  mantelpiece 
was  elaborately  carved  in  Chinamen  and  pagodas. 
There  were  Chinese  curiosities  of  a  miscellaneous 
kind  on  the  tables,  and  the  beautiful  remains  of  an 
Indian  carpet  underfoot.  Unluckily,  some  later  Boyce 
had  thrust  a  crudely  Gothic  sideboard,  with  an  arched 
and  pillared  front,  adapted  to  the  purposes  of  a  warm- 
ing apparatus,  into  the  midst  of  the  mandarins,  which 
disturbed  the  general  effect.  But  with  all  its  original 
absurdities,  and  its  modern  defacements,  the  room  was 
a  beautiful  and  stately  one.  Marcella  stepped  into  it 
with  a  slight  unconscious  straightening  of  her  tall 
form.     It  seemed  to  her  that  she  had  never  breathed 

28 


M ARC ELL A.  29 

easily  till  now,  in  the  ample  space  of  these  rooms  and 
gardens. 

Her  father  and  mother  were  already  at  table,  to- 
gether with  Mrs.  Boyce's  brown  spaniel  Lynn. 

Mr.  Boyce  was  employed  in  ordering  about  the  tall 
boy  in  a  worn  and  greasy  livery  coat,  who  represented 
the  men-service  of  the  establishment ;  his  wife  was 
talking  to  her  dog,  but  from  the  lift  of  her  eyebrows, 
and  the  twitching  of  her  thin  lips,  it  was  plain  to 
Marcella  that  her  mother  was  as  usual  of  opinion  that 
her  father  was  behaving  foolishly* 

"  There,  for  goodness'  sake,  cut  some  bread  on  the 
sideboard,"  said  the  angry  master,  "  and  hand  it  round 
instead  of  staring  about  you  like  a  stuck  pig.  What 
they  taught  you  at  Sir  William  Jute's  I  can't  .con- 
ceive. 7  didn't  undertake  to  make  a  man-servant  of 
you,  sir." 

The  pale,  harassed  lad  flew  at  the  bread,  cut  it 
with  a  vast  scattering  of  crumbs,  handed  it  clumsily 
round,  and  then  took  glad  advantage  of  a  short  supply 
of  coffee  to  bolt  from  the  room  to  order  more. 

"  Idiot ! "  said  Mr.  Boyce,  with  an  angry  frown,  as 
he  disappeared. 

"  If  you  would  allow  Ann  to  do  her  proper  parlour 
work  again,"  said  his  wife  blandly,  "you  would,  I 
think,  be  less  annoyed.  And  as  I  believe  William 
was  boot  boy  at  the  Jutes',  it  is  not  surprising  that 
he  did  not  learn  waiting." 

"I  tell  you,  Evelyn,  that  our  position  demands  a 
man-servant!"  was  the  hot  reply.  "None  of  my 
family  have  ever  attempted  to  run  this  house  with 
women    only.     It    would   be    unseemly  —  unfitting  — 


30  MABCELLA, 

"  Oh,  I  am  no  judge  of  course  of  what  a  Boyce  may 
do  !  "  said  his  wife  carelessly.  ^^  I  leave  that  to  you 
and  the  neighbourhood." 

Mr.  Boyce  looked  uncomfortable,  cooled  down,  and 
presently  when  the  coffee  came  back  asked  his  wife  for 
a  fresh  supply  in  tones  from  which  all  bellicosity  had 
for  the  time  departed.  He  was  a  small  and  singularly 
thin  man,  with  blue  wandering  eyes  under  the  blackest 
possible  eyebrows  and  hair.  The  cheeks  were  hollow, 
the  complexion  as  yellow  as  that  of  the  typical  Anglo- 
Indian.  The  special  character  of  the  mouth  was  hidden 
by  a  fine  black  moustache,  but  his  prevailing  expres- 
sion varied  between  irritability  and  a  kind  of  plain- 
tiveness.  The  conspicuous  blue  eyes  were  as  a  rule 
melancholy ;  but  they  could  be  childishly  bright  and 
self-assertive.  There  was  a  general  air  of  breeding 
about  Eichard  Boyce,  of  that  air  at  any  rate  which 
our  common  generalisations  connect  with  the  pride  of 
old  family  ;  his  dress  was  careful  and  correct  to  the 
last  detail ;  and  his  hands  with  their  long  fingers  were 
of  an  excessive  delicacy,  though  marred  as  to  beauty 
by  a  thinness  which  nearly  amounted  to  emaciation. 

"  The  servants  say  they  must  leave  imless  the  ghost 
does,  Marcella,"  said  Mrs.  Boyce,  suddenly,  laying  a 
morsel  of  toast  as  she  spoke  on  Ljrtin's  nose.  "  Some- 
one from  the  village  of  course  has  been  talking  —  the 
cook  says  she  heard  something  last  night,  though  she 
will  not  condescend  to  particulars  —  and  in  general  it 
seems  to  me  that  you  and  I  may  be  left  before  long 
to  do  the  house  work." 

''  What  do  they  say  in  the  village  ?  "  asked  Marcella 
eagerly. 


MARCELLA.  31 

"  Oh !  they  say  there  was  a  Boyce  two  hundred 
years  ago  who  fled  down  here  from  London  after 
doing  something  he  shouldn't  —  I  really  forget  what. 
The  sheriff's  officers  were  advancing  on  the  house. 
Their  approach  displeased  him,  and  he  put  an  end  to 
himself  at  the  head  of  the  little  staircase  leading 
from  the  tapestry-room  down  to  my  sitting-room. 
Why  did  he  choose  the  staircase?^'  said  Mrs.  Boyce 
with  light  reflectiveness. 

"It  won't  do,"  said  Marcella,  shaking  her  head. 
"I  know  the  Boyce  they  mean.  He  was  a  ruffian, 
but  he  shot  himself  in  London ;  and,  an}^  way,  he  was 
dead  long  before  that  staircase  was  built.'' 

"  Dear  me,  how  well  up  you  are  !  "  said  her  mother. 
"Suppose  you  give  a  little  lecture  on  the  family  in 
the  servants'  hall.  Though  I  never  knew  a  ghost  yet 
that  was  undone  by  dates." 

There  was  a  satiric  detachment  in  her  tone  which 
contrasted  sharply  with  Marcella's  amused  but  sym- 
pathetic interest.  Detachment  was  perhaps  the  char- 
acteristic note  of  Mrs.  Boyce's  manner,  —  a  curious 
separateness,  as  it  were,  from  all  the  things  and 
human  beings  immediately  about  her. 

Marcella  pondered. 

"  I  shall  ask  Mr.  Harden  about  the  stories,"  she  said 
presently.  '-  He  will  have  heard  them  in  the  village. 
I  am  going  to  the  church  this  morning." 

Her  mother  looked  at  her  —  a  look  of  quiet  exam- 
ination —  and  smiled.  The  Lady  Bountiful  airs  that 
Marcella  had  already  assumed  during  the  six  weeks 
she  had  been  in  the  house  entertained  Mrs.  Boyce 
exceedingly. 


32  MARCELLA. 

"Harden!"  said  Mr.  Boyce,  catching  the  name. 
'•'  I  wish  that  man  would  leave  me  alone.  What  have 
I  got  to  do  with  a  water-supply  for  the  village  ?  It 
will  be  as  much  as  ever  I  can  manage  to  keep  a  water- 
tight roof  over  our  heads  during  the  winter  after  the 
way  in  which  Robert  has  behaved." 

Marcella's  cheek  flushed. 

"  The  village  water-supply  is  a  disgrace/^  she  said 
with  low  emphasis.  "I  never  saw  such  a  crew  of 
unhealthy,  wretched-looking  children  in  my  life  as 
swarm  about  those  cottages.  We  take  the  rent,  and 
we  ought  to  look  after  them.  I  believe  you  could  be 
forced  to  do  something,  papa  —  if  the  local  authority 
were  of  any  use." 

She  looked  at  him  defiantly. 

"Nonsense,"  said  Mr.  Boyce  testily.  "They  got 
along  in  your  Uncle  Robert's  days,  and  they  can  get 
along  now.  Charity,  indeed !  Why,  the  state  of  this 
house  and  the  pinch  for  money  altogether  is  enough, 
I  should  think,  to  take  a  man's  mind.  Don't  you  go 
talking  to  Mr.  Harden  in  the  way  you  do,  Marcella. 
I  don't  like  it,  and  I  won't  have  it.  You  have  the 
interests  of  your  family  and  your  home  to  think  of 
first." 

"Poor  starved  things!"  said  Marcella  sarcastically 
—  "  living  in  such  a  de7i !  " 

And  she  swept  her  white  hand  round,  as  though 
calling  to  witness  the  room  in  which  they  sat. 

"I  tell  you,"  said  Mr.  Boyce,  rising  and  standing 
before  the  fire,  whence  he  angrily  surveyed  the  hand- 
some daughter  who  was  in  truth  so  little  known  to 
him,  and  whose  nature  and  aims  during  the  close  con- 


MABCELLA.  33 

tact  of  the  last  few  weeks  had  become  something  of  a 
perplexity  and  disturbance  to  him, —  "  I  tell  you  our 
great  effort,  the  effort  of  us  all,  must  be  to  keep  up 
the  family  position!  —  our  position.  Look  at  that 
library,  and  its  condition ;  look  at  the  state  of  these 
wall-papers ;  look  at  the  garden ;  look  at  the  estate 
books  if  it  comes  to  that.  Why,  it  will  be  years 
before,  even  with  all  my  knowledge  of  affairs,  I  can 
pull  the  thing  through  —  years  ! " 

Mrs.  Boyce  gave  a  slight  cough  —  she  had  pushed 
back  her  chair,  and  was  alternately  studying  her  hus- 
band and  daughter.  They  might  have  been  actors 
performing  for  her  amusement.  And  yet,  amusement 
is  not  precisely  the  word.  For  that  hazel  eye,  with 
its  frequent  smile,  had  not  a  spark  of  geniality. 
After  a  time  those  about  her  found  something  scath- 
ing in  its  dry  light. 

Now,  as  soon  as  her  husband  became  aware  that 
she  was  watching  him,  his  look  wavered,  and  his 
mood  collapsed.  He  threw  her  a  curious  furtive 
glance,  and  fell  silent. 

"  I  suppose  Mr.  Harden  and  his  sister  remind  you 
of  your  London  Socialist  friends,  Marcella?"  asked 
Mrs.  Boyce  lightly,  in  the  pause  that  followed.  "  You 
have,  I  see,  taken  a  great  liking  for  them.^' 

"  Oh !  well  —  I  don't  know,"  said  Marcella,  with  a 
shrug,  and  something  of  a  proud  reticence.  "Mr. 
Harden  is  very  kind  —  but  —  he  doesn't  seem  to  have 
thought  much  about  things." 

She  never  talked  about  her  London  friends  to  her 
mother,  if  she  could  help  it.  The  sentiments  of  life 
generally  avoided  Mrs.  Boyce  when  they  could.     Mar- 


34  MARCELLA. 

cella  being  all  sentiment  and  impulse,  was  constantly 
her  mother's  victim,  do  what  she  would.  But  in  her 
quiet  moments  she  stood  on  the  defensive. 

"  So  the  Socialists  are  the  only  people  who  think  ?  " 
said  Mrs.  Boyce,  who  was  now  standing  by  the  window, 
pressing  her  dog's  head  against  her  dress  as  he  pushed 
up  against  her.  "  Well,  I  am  sorry  for  the  Hardens. 
They  tell  me  they  give  all  their  substance  away  — 
already  —  and  every  one  says  it  is  going  to  be  a  par- 
ticularly bad  winter.  The  living,  I  hear,  is  worth 
nothing.  All  the  same,  I  should  wish  them  to  look 
more  cheerful.     It  is  the  first  duty  of  martyrs." 

Marcella  looked  at  her  mother  indignantly.  It 
seemed  to  her  often  that  she  said  the  most  heartless 
things  imaginable. 

*^ Cheerful!"  she  said  —  "in  a  village  like  this  — 
Avith  all  the  young  men  drifting  off  to  London,  and 
all  the  well-to-do  people  dissenters  —  no  one  to  stand 
by  him  —  no  money  and  no  helpers  —  the  people 
always  ill  —  wages  eleven  and  twelve  shillings  a  week 
—  and  only  the  old  wrecks  of  men  left  to  do  the 
work !  He  might,  I  think,  expect  the  people  in  tJiis 
house  to  back  him  up  a  little.  All  he  asks  is  that 
papa  should  go  and  satisfy  himself  with  his  own  eyes 
as  to  the  difference  between  our  property  and  Lord 
Maxwell's  —  " 

"Lord  Maxwell's!"  cried  Mr.  Boyce,  rousing  him- 
self from  a  state  of  half-melancholy,  half-sleepy  reverie 
by  the  fire,  and  throwing  away  his  cigarette  —  "  Lord 
Maxwell !  Difference !  I  should  think  so.  Thirty 
thousand  a  year,  if  he  has  a  penny.  By  the  way, 
I    wish   he   would   just   have  the  civility  to  answer 


MARC  ELL  A.  35 

my  note  about  those  coverts  over  by  Willow 
Scrubs!" 

He  had  hardly  said  the  words  when  the  door  opened 
to  admit  William  the  footman,  in  his  usual  tremor  of 
nervousness,  carrying  a  salver  and  a  note. 

''The  man  says,  please  sir,  is  there  any  answer, 
sir  ?  " 

"  Well,  that's  odd ! "  said  Mr.  Boyce,  his  look 
brightening.  "Here  is  Lord  Maxwell's  answer,  just 
as  I  was  talking  of  it." 

His  wife  turned  sharply  and  watched  him  take  it ; 
her  lips  parted,  a  strange  expectancy  in  her  whole 
attitude.  He  tore  it  open,  read  it,  and  then  threw  it 
angrily  under  the  grate. 

*'  No  answer.  Shut  the  door."  The  lad  retreated. 
Mr.  Boyce  sat  down  and  began  carefully  to  put  the 
fire  together.  His  thin  left  hand  shook  upon  his 
knee. 

There  was  a  moment's  pause  of  complete  silence. 
Mrs.  Boyce's  face  might  have  been  seen  by  a  close 
observer  to  quiver  and  then  stiffen  as  she  stood  in  the 
light  of  the  window,  a  tall  and  queenl}^  figure  in  her 
sweeping  black.  But  she  said  not  a  word,  and  pres- 
ently left  the  room. 

Marcella  watched  her  father. 

"  Papa  —  was  that  a  note  from  Lord  Maxwell  ?  " 

Mr.  Boyce  looked  round  with  a  start,  as  though 
surprised  that  any  one  was  still  there.  It  struck  Mar- 
cella that  he  looked  yellow  and  shrunken  —  years  older 
than  her  mother.  An  impulse  of  tenderness,  joined 
with  anger  and  a  sudden  sick  depression  —  she  was 
conscious  of  them  all  as  she  got  up  and  went  across  to 


36  MARC  ELLA. 

him,  determined  to  speak  out.  Her  parents  were  not 
her  friends,  and  did  not  possess  her  conlidence ;  but 
her  constant  separation  from  them  since  her  chiklhood 
had  now  sometimes  the  result  of  giving  her  the  bold- 
ness with  them  that  a  stranger  might  have  had.  She 
had  no  habitual  deference  to  break  through,  and  the 
hindering  restraints  of  memory,  though  strong,  were 
still  less  strong  than  they  would  have  been  if  she  had 
lived  with  them  day  by  day  and  year  by  year,  and  had 
known  their  lives  in  close  detail  instead  of  guessing  at 
them,  as  was  now  so  often  the  case  with  her. 

"  Papa,  is  Lord  J\lax well's  note  an  uncivil  one  ?  " 

Mr.  Boyce  stooped  forward  and  began  to  rub  his 
chilly  hand  over  the  blaze. 

"  Why,  that  man's  only  son  and  I  used  to  loaf  and 
shoot  and  play  cricket  together  from  morning  till  night 
when  we  were  boys.  Henry  Eaeburn  was  a  bit  older 
than  I,  and  he  lent  me  the  gun  with  which  I  shot  my 
first  rabbit.  It  was  in  one  of  the  fields  over  by  Soley- 
hurst,  just  where  the  two  estates  join.  After  that  we 
were  always  companions  —  we  used  to  go  out  at  night 
with  the  keepers  after  poachers ;  we  spent  hours  in 
the  snow  watching  for  wood-pigeons ;  we  shot  that 
pair  of  kestrels  over  the  inner  hall  door,  in  the  Wind- 
mill Hill  fields  —  at  least  I  did  —  I  was  a  better  shot 
than  he  by  that  time.  He  didn't  like  Robert  —  he 
always  wanted  me." 

^^  Well,  pax^a,  but  what  does  he  say  ?  "  asked  Mar- 
cella,  impatiently.  She  laid  her  hand,  however,  as 
she  spoke,  on  her  father's  shoulder. 

Mr.  Boyce  winced  and  looked  up  at  her.  He  and 
her  mother  had  originally  sent  their  daughter  away 


MABCELLA.  37 

from  home  that  they  might  avoid  the  daily  worry  of 
her  awakening  curiosities,  and  one  of  his  resohitions 
in  coming  to  Mellor  Park  had  been  to  keep  up  his 
dignity  with  her.  But  the  sight  of  her  dark  face  bent 
upon  him,  softened  by  a  quick  and  womanly  compas- 
sion, seemed  to  set  free  a  new  impulse  in  him. 

"He  writes  in  the  third  person,  if  you  want  to 
know,  my  dear,  and  refers  me  to  his  agent,  very  much 
as  though  I  were  some  London  grocer  who  had  just 
bought  the  place.  Oh,  it  is  quite  evident  what  he 
means.  They  were  here  without  moving  all  through 
June  and  July,  and  it  is  now  three  weeks  at  least 
since  he  and  Miss  Eaeburn  came  back  from  Scotland, 
and  not  a  card  nor  a  word  from  either  of  them !  Nor 
from  the  Winterbournes,  nor  the  Levens.  Pleasant ! 
Well,  my  dear,  you  must  make  up  your  mind  to  it. 
I  did  think  —  I  was  fool  enough  to  think  —  that  when 
I  came  back  to  the  old  place,  my  father's  old  friends 
would  let  bygones  be  bygones.  I  never  did  them  any 
harm.  Let  them  'gang  their  gait,'  confound  them!" 
—  the  little  dark  man  straightened  himself  fiercely  — 
"I  can  get  my  pleasure  out  of  the  land;  and  as  for 
your  mother,  she'd  not  lift  a  finger  to  propitiate  one 
of  them!" 

In  the  last  words,  however,  there  was  not  a  fraction 
of  that  sympathetic  pride  which  the  ear  expected,  but 
rather  fresh  bitterness  and  grievance. 

Marcella  stood  thinking,  her  mind  travelling  hither 
and  thither  with  lightning  speed,  now  over  the  social 
events  of  the  last  six  weeks  —  now  over  incidents  of 
those  long-past  holidays.  Was  this,  indeed,  the  second 
volume  beginning — the  natural  sequel  to  those  old 


38  MAECELLA. 

mysterious  histories  of  shrinking,  disillusion,  and 
repulse  ? 

"What  was  it  you  wanted  about  those  coverts, 
papa?"    she  asked  presently,  with  a  quick  decision. 

"  What  the  deuce  does  it  matter  ?  If  you  want  to 
know,  I  proposed  to  him  to  exchange  my  coverts  over 
by  the  Scrubs,  which  work  in  with  his  shooting,  for 
the  wood  down  by  the  Home  Farm.  It  was  an  ex- 
change made  year  after  year  in  my  father's  time. 
When  I  spoke  to  the  keeper,  I  found  it  had  been 
allowed  to  lapse.  Your  uncle  let  the  shooting  go  to 
rack  and  ruin  after  Harold's  death.  It  gave  me  some- 
thing to  write  about,  and  I  was  determined  to  know 
where  I  stood  —  Well !  the  old  Pharisee  can  go  his 
way  :  I'll  go  mine." 

And  with  a  spasmodic  attempt  to  play  the  squire  of 
Mellor  on  his  native  heath,  Eichard  Boyce  rose,  drew 
his  emaciated  frame  to  its  full  height,  and  stood 
looking  out  drearily  to  his  ancestral  lawns  —  a  pict- 
uresque and  elegant  figure,  for  all  its  weakness  and 
pitiableness. 

"  I  shall  ask  Mr.  Aldous  Raeburn  about  it,  if  I  see 
him  in  the  village  to-day,"  said  Marcella,  quietly. 

Her  father  started,  and  looked  at  her  with  some 
attention. 

"  What  have  you  seen  of  Aldous  Raeburn  ?  "  he 
inquired.  "I  remember  hearing  that  you  had  come 
across  him." 

"  Certainly  I  have  come  across  him.  I  have  met 
him  once  or  twice  at  the  Vicarage  —  and  —  oh  !  on 
one  or  two  other  occasions,"  said  Marcella,  carelessly. 
"  He  has  always  made  himself  agreeable.     Mr.  Har- 


MARCELLA.  39 

den  says  his  grandfather  is  devoted  to  him,  and  will 
hardly  ever  let  him  go  away  from  home.  He  does  a 
great  deal  for  Lord  Maxwell  now  :  writes  for  him,  and 
helps  to  manage  the  estate ;  and  next  year,  when 
the  Tories  come  back  and  Lord  Maxwell  is  in  oihce 
again  —  " 

"  Why,  of  course,  there'll  be  plums  for  the  grand- 
son," said  Mr.  Boyce  with  a  sneer.  '•  That  goes  with- 
out saying  —  though  we  are  such  a  virtuous  lot." 

"  Oh  yes,  he'll  get  on  —  everybody  says  so.  And 
he'll  deserve  it  too  !  "  she  added,  her  eye  kindling  com- 
batively as  she  surveyed  her  father.  "  He  takes  a  lot 
of  trouble  down  here  about  the  cottages  and  the  board 
of  guardians  and  the  farms.  The  Hardens  like  him 
very  much,  but  he  is  not  exactly  popular,  according  to 
them.  His  manners  are  sometimes  shy  and  awkward, 
and  the  poor  people  think  he's  proud." 

"Ah!  a  prig  I  dare  say  —  like  some  of  his  uncles 
before  him,"  said  Mr.  Boyce,  irritably.  '-  But  he  was 
civil  to  you,  you  say  ?  " 

And  again  he  turned  a  quick  considering  eye  on  his 
daughter. 

"  Oh  dear !  yes,"  said  Marcella,  with  a  little  proud 
smile.  There  was  a  pause ;  then  she  spoke  again. 
"  I  must  go  off  to  the  church ;  the  Hardens  have  hard 
work  just  now  with  the  harvest  festival,  and  I  prom- 
isetl  to  take  them  some  flowers." 

"Well" — said  her  father,  grudgingly,  "so  long  as 
you  don't  promise  anything  on  my  account !  I  tell 
you,  I  haven't  got  sixpence  to  spend  on  subscriptions 
to  anything  or  anybody.  By  the  way,  if  you  see  Rey- 
nolds anywhere  about  the  drive,  you  can  send  him  to 


40  MARCELLA. 

me.  He  and  I  are  going  round  the  Home  Farm  to 
pick  np  a  few  birds  if  we  can,  and  see  what  the 
coverts  look  like.  The  stock  has  all  run  down,  and 
the  place  has  been  poached  to  death.  But  he  thinks 
if  we  take  on  an  extra  man  in  the  spring,  and  spend  a 
little  on  rearing,  we  shall  do  pretty  decently  next 
year." 

The  colour  leapt  to  Marcella's  cheek  as  she  tied  on 
her  hat. 

"  You  will  set  up  another  keeper,  and  you  won't  do 
anything  for  the  village  ?  "  she  cried,  her  black  eyes 
lightening;  and  without  another  word  she  opened  the 
French  window  and  walked  rapidly  away  along  the 
terrace,  leaving  her  father  both  angered  and  amazed. 

A  man  like  Richard  Boyce  cannot  get  comfortably 
through  life  without  a  good  deal  of  masquerading  in 
which  those  in  his  immediate  neighbourhood  are  ex- 
pected to  join.  His  wife  had  long  since  consented  to 
play  the  game,  on  condition  of  making  it  plain  the 
whole  time  that  she  was  no  dupe.  As  to  what  Mar- 
cella's part  in  the  affair  might  be  going  to  be,  her 
father  was  as  yet  uneasily  in  the  dark.  What  con- 
stantly astonished  him,  as  she  moved  and  talked  under 
his  eye,  was  the  girl's  beauty.  Surely  she  had  been  a 
plain  child,  though  a  striking  one.  But  now  she  had 
not  only  beauty,  but  the  air  of  beauty.  The  self- 
confidence  given  by  the  possession  of  good  looks  was 
very  evident  in  her  behaviour.  She  was  very  accom- 
plished, too,  and  more  clever  than  was  always  quite 
agreeable  to  a  father  whose  self-conceit  was  one  of  the 
few  compensations  left  him  by  misfortune.  Such  a 
irirl  was  sure  to  be  admired.     She  would  have  lovers  — 


M ABC  ELL  A.  41 

friends  of  her  own.  It  seemed  that  already,  while 
Lord  Maxwell  was  preparing  to  insult  the  father,  his 
grandson  had  discovered  that  the  daughter  was  hand- 
some. Eichard  Boyce  fell  into  a  miserable  reverie, 
Avherein  the  Raeburns'  behaviour  and  Marcella's  unex- 
pected gifts  played  about  equal  parts. 

Meanwhile  Marcella  was  gathering  flowers  in  the 
"  Cedar  garden,"  the  most  adorable  corner  of  Mellor 
Park,  where  the  original  Tudor  house,  grey,  mullioned 
and  ivy-covered,"  ran  at  right  angles  into  the  later 
"  garden  front,"  which  projected  beyond  it  to  the  south, 
making  thereby  a  sunny  and  sheltered  corner  where 
roses,  clematis,  hollyhocks,  and  sunflowers  grew  with  a 
more  lavish  height  and  blossom  than  elsewhere,  as 
though  conscious  they  must  do  their  part  in  a  whole 
of  beauty.  The  grass  indeed  wanted  mowing,  and 
the  first  autumn  leaves  lay  thickly  drifted  upon  it ;  the 
flowers  were  untied  and  untrimmed.  But  under  the 
condition  of  two  gardeners  to  ten  acres  of  garden, 
nature  does  very  much  as  she  pleases,  and  Mr.  Boyce 
when  he  came  that  way  grumbled  in  vain. 

As  for  Marcella,  she  was  alternately  moved  to  revolt 
and  tenderness  by  the  ragged  charm  of  the  old  place. 

On  the  one  hand,  it  angered  her  that  anything  so 
plainly  meant  for  beauty  and  dignity  should  go  so 
neglected  and  unkempt.  On  the  other,  if  house  and 
gardens  had  been  spick  and  span  like  the  other  houses 
of  the  neigbourhood,  if  there  had  been  sound  roofs,  a 
modern  water-supply,  shutters,  greenhouses,  and  weed- 
less  paths,  —  in  short,  the  general  self-complacent  air 
of  a  well-kept  country  house,  —  where  would  liave  been 


42  MABCELLA. 

that  thrilling  intimate  appeal,  as  for  something  for- 
lornly lovely,  which  the  old  place  so  constantly  made 
upon  her  ?  It  seemed  to  depend  even  upon  her,  the 
latest  born  of  all  its  children  —  to  ask  for  tendance 
and  cherishing  even  from  her.  She  was  always  plan- 
ning how  —  with  a  minimum  of  money  to  spend  —  it 
could  be  comforted  and  healed,  and  in  the  planning  had 
grown  in  these  few  weeks  to  love  it  as  though  she  had 
been  bred  there. 

But  this  morning  Marcella  picked  her  roses  and 
sunflowers  in  tumult  and  depression  of  spirit.  What 
loas  this  past  which  in  these  new  surroundings  was  like 
some  vainly  fled  tyrant  clutching  at  them  again  ?  She 
energetically  decided  that  the  time  had  come  for  her 
to  demand  the  truth.  Yet,  of  whom  ?  Marcella  knew 
very  well  that  to  force  her  mother  to  any  line  of  action 
Mrs.  Boyce  was  unwilling  to  follow,  was  beyond  her 
power.  And  it  was  not  easy  to  go  to  her  father 
directly  and  say,  "  Tell  me  exactly  how  and  why  it  is 
that  society  has  turned  its  back  upon  you."  All  the 
same,  it  ivas  due  to  them  all,  due  to  herself  especially, 
now  that  she  was  grown  up  and  at  home,  that  she 
should  not  be  kept  in  the  dark  any  longer  like  a  baby, 
that  she  should  be  put  in  possession  of  the  facts  which, 
after  all,  threatened  to  stand  here  at  Mellor  Park,  as 
untowardly  in  their,  in  her  way,  as  they  had  done  in 
the  shabby  school  and  lodging-house  existence  of  all 
those  bygone  years. 

Perhaps  the  secret  of  her  impatience  was  that  she 

'  did  not,  and  could  not,  believe  that  the  facts,  if  faced, 

would  turn  out  to  be  insurmountable.     Her  instinct 

told  her  as  she  looked  back  that  their  relation  toward 


MAR CELL A.  43 

society  in  the  past,  though  full  of  discomforts  and 
humiliations,  had  not  been  the  relation  of  outcasts. 
Their  poverty  and  the  shifts  to  which  poverty  drives 
people  had  brought  them  the  disrespect  of  one  class ; 
and  as  to  the  acquaintances  and  friends  of  their  own 
rank,  what  had  been  mainly  shown  them  had  been  a 
sort  of  cool  distaste  for  their  comj)any,  an  insulting 
readiness  to  forget  the  existence  of  people  who  had 
so  to  speak  lost  their  social  bloom,  and  laid  themselves 
open  to  the  contemptuous  disapproval  or  pity  of  the 
world.  Everybody,  it  seemed,  knew  their  affairs,  and 
knowing  them  saw  no  personal  advantage  and  dis- 
tinction in  the  Boyces'  acquaintance,  but  rather  the 
contrary. 

As  she  put  the  facts  together  a  little,  she  realised, 
however,  that  the  breach  had  always  been  deepest  be- 
tween her  father  and  his  relations,  or  his  oldest  friends. 
A  little  shiver  j)assed  through  her  as  she  reflected  that 
here,  in  his  own  country,  where  his  history  was  best 
known,  the  feeling  towards  him,  whatever  it  rested 
upon,  might  very  probably  be  strongest.  Well,  it  ivas 
hard  upon  them  I  —  hard  upon  her  mother  —  hard  upon 
her.  In  her  first  ecstasy  over  the  old  ancestral  house 
and  the  dignities  of  her  new  position,  how  little  she 
had  thought  of  these  things !  And  there  they  were 
all  the  time  —  dogging  and  thwarting. 

She  walked  slowly  along,  with  her  burden  of 
flowers,  through  a  laurel  path  which  led  straight  to 
the  drive,  and  so,  across  it,  to  the  little  church.  The 
church  stood  all  alone  there  under  the  great  limes  of 
the  Park,  far  away  from  parsonage  and  village  —  the 
property,  it  seemed,  of  the  big  house.     When  Marcella 


44  MARCELLA. 

entered,  the  doors  on  the  north  and  south  sides  were 
both  standing  open,  for  the  vicar  and  his  sister  had 
been  already  at  work  there,  and  had  but  gone  back  to 
the  parsonage  for  a  bit  of  necessary  business,  meaning 
to  return  in  half  an  hour. 

It  was  the  unpretending  church  of  a  hamlet,  girt 
outside  by  the  humble  graves  of  toiling  and  forgotten 
generations,  and  adorned,  or,  at  any  rate,  diversified 
within  by  a  group  of  mural  monuments,  of  various 
styles  and  dates,  but  all  of  them  bearing,  in  some  way 
or  another,  the  name  of  Boyce  —  conspicuous  amongst 
them  a  florid  cherub-crowned  tomb  in  the  chancel, 
marking  the  remains  of  that  Parliamentarian  Boyce 
who  fought  side  by  side  with  Hampden,  his  boyish 
friend,  at  Chalgrove  Field,  lived  to  be  driven  out  of 
Westminster  by  Colonel  Pryde,  and  to  spend  his  later 
years  at  Mellor,  in  disgrace,  first  with  the  Protector, 
and  then  with  the  Eestoration.  From  these  monu- 
ments alone  a  tolerably  faithful  idea  of  the  Boyce 
family  could  have  been  gathered.  Clearly  not  a 
family  of  any  very  great  pretensions  —  a  race  for  the 
most  part  of  frugal,  upright  country  gentlemen  —  to 
be  found,  with  scarcely  an  exception,  on  the  side  of 
political  liberty,  and  of  a  Whiggish  religion ;  men  who 
had  given  their  sons  to  die  at  Quebec,  and  Plassy,  and 
Trafalgar,  for  the  making  of  England's  Empire ;  who 
would  have  voted  with  Fox,  but  that  the  terrors  of 
Burke,  and  a  dogged  sense  that  the  country  must  be 
carried  on,  drove  them  into  supporting  Pitt;  who,  at 
home,  dispensed  alternate  justice  and  doles,  and  when 
their  wives  died  put  up  inscriptions  to  them  intended 
to  bear  witness  at  once  to  the  Latinitv  of  a  Bovce's 


MARCELLA.  45 

education,  and  the  pious  strength  of  his  legitimate 
affections  —  a  tedious  race  perhaps  and  pig-headed, 
tyrannical  too  here  and  there,  but  on  the  whole  hon- 
ourable English  stuff  —  the  stuff  which  has  made, 
and  still  in  new  forms  sustains,  the  fabric  of  a  great 
state. 

Only  once  was  there  a  break  in  the  uniform  charac- 
ter of  the  monuments  —  a  break  corresponding  to  the 
highest  moment  of  the  Boyce  fortunes,  a  moment 
when  the  respectability  of  the  family  rose  suddenly 
into  brilliance,  and  the  prose  of  generations  broke 
into  a  few  years  of  poetry.  Somewhere  in  the  last 
century  an  earlier  Eichard  Boyce  went  abroad  to 
make  the  grand  tour.  He  was  a  man  of  parts,  the 
friend  of  Horace  Walpole  and  of  Gray,  and  his  intro- 
ductions opened  to  him  whatever  doors  he  might  wish 
to  enter,  at  a  time  when  the  upper  classes  of  the  lead- 
ing European  nations  were  far  more  intimately  and 
familiarly  acquainted  with  each  other  than  they  are 
now.  He  married  at  Eome  an  Italian  lady  of  high 
birth  and  large  fortune.  Then  he  brought  her  home 
to  Mellor,  where  straightway  the  garden  front  was 
built  with  all  its  fantastic  and  beautiful  decoration, 
the  great  avenue  was  planted,  pictures  began  to  in- 
vade the  house,  and  a  musical  library  was  collected 
whereof  the  innumerable  faded  volumes,  bearing  each 
of  them  the  entwined  names  of  Eichard  and  Marcella 
Boyce,  had  been  during  the  last  few  weeks  mines  of 
delight  and  curiosity  to  the  ^larcella  of  to-day. 

The  Italian  wife  bore  her  lord  two  sons,  and  then 
in  early  middle  life  she  died  —  much  loved  and  ]  assion- 
ately  mourned.     Her  tomb  bore  no  long-winded  pane- 


46  MARC  ELL  A. 

gyric.  Her  name  only,  her  parentage  and  birthplace  — 
for  she  was  Italian  to  the  last^  and  her  husband  loved 
her  the  better  for  it  —  the  dates  of  her  birth  and  death, 
and  then  two  lines  from  Dante's  Vita  Nuova. 

The  portrait  of  this  earlier  Marcella  hung  still  in 
the  room  where  her  music-books  survived,  —  a  dark 
blurred  picture  by  an  inferior  hand ;  but  the  ^Marcella 
of  to-day  had  long  since  eagerly  decided  that  her  own 
physique  and  her  father's  were  to  be  traced  to  its 
original,  as  well,  no  doubt,  as  the  artistic  aptitudes  of 
both  —  aptitudes  not  hitherto  conspicuous  in  her  re- 
spectable race. 

In  reality,  however,  she  loved  every  one  of  them  — 
these  Jacobean  and  Georgian  squires  with  their  inter- 
minable epitaphs.  Now,  as  she  stood  in  the  church, 
looking  about  her,  her  flowers  lying  beside  her  in  a 
tumbled  heap  on  the  chancel  step,  cheerfulness,  delight, 
nay,  the  indomitable  pride  and  exultation  of  her  youth, 
came  back  upon  her  in  one  great  lifting  wave.  The 
depression  of  her  father's  repentances  and  trepidar 
tions  fell  away ;  she  felt  herself  in  her  place,  under 
the  shelter  of  her  forefathers,  incorporated  and  re- 
deemed, as  it  were,  into  their  guild  of  honour. 

There  were  difficulties  in  her  path,  no  doubt  —  but 
she  had  her  vantage-ground,  and  would  use  it  for  her 
own  profit  and  that  of  others.  She  had  no  cause  for 
shame  ;  and  in  these  days  of  the  developed  individual 
the  old  solidarity  of  the  family  has  become  injustice 
and  wrong.  Her  mind  filled  tumultuously  with  the 
evidence  these  last  two  years  had  brought  her  of  her 
natural  power  over  men  and  things.  8he  knew  per- 
fectly well  that  she   could  do  and  dare  what   other 


MARCELLA.  47 

girls  of  her  age  could  never  venture  —  that  she  had 
fascination,  resource,  brain. 

Already,  in  these  few  weeks  —  Smiles  played  about 
her  lips  as  she  thought  of  that  quiet  grave  gentle- 
man of  thirty  she  had  been  meeting  at  the  Hardens'. 
His  grandfather  might  write  what  he  pleased.  It  did 
not  alter  the  fact  that  during  the  last  few  weeks  ^Ir. 
Aldous  Kaeburn,  clearly  one  of  the  2^<^f'tis  most  cov- 
eted, and  one  of  the  men  most  observed,  in  the  neigh- 
bourhood, had  taken  and  shown  a  very  marked  interest 
in  Mr.  Boyce's  daughter  —  all  the  more  marked  because 
of  the  reserved  manner  with  which  it  had  to  contend. 

Xo  I  whatev^er  happened,  she  would  carve  her  path, 
make  her  own  way,  and  her  parents'  too.  At  twenty- 
one,  nothing  looks  irrevocable.  A  woman's  charm,,  a 
woman's  energy  should  do  it  all. 

Ay,  and  something  else  too.  She  looked  quickly 
round  the  church,  her  mind  swelling  with  the  sense  of 
the  Cravens'  injustice  and  distrust.  Never  could  she 
be  more  conscious  than  here  —  on  this  very  spot  —  of 
mission,  of  an  urging  call  to  the  service  of  man.  In 
front  of  her  was  the  Boyces'  family  pew,  carved  and 
becushioned,  but  behind  it  stretched  bench  after  bench 
of  plain  and  humble  oak,  on  which  the  village  sat  when 
it  came  to  church.  Here,  for  the  first  time,  had  Mar- 
cella  been  brought  face  to  face  with  the  agricultural 
world  as  it  is  —  no  stage  ruralism,  but  the  bare  fact  in 
one  of  its  most  pitiful  aspects.  Men  of  sixty  and  up- 
wards, grey  and  furrowed  like  the  chalk  soil  into  which 
they  had  worked  their  lives ;  not  old  as  age  goes,  but 
already  the  refuse  of  their  generation,  and  paid  for  at 
the  rate  of  refuse  ;  with  no  prospect  but  the  workhouse, 


48  M ABC ELLA. 

if  the  grave  should  be  delayed,  yet  quiet,  impassive, 
resigned,  now  showing  a  furtive  childish  amusement 
if  a  schoolboy  misbehaved,  or  a  dog  strayed  into  church, 
now  joining  with  a  stolid  unconsciousness  in  the  tre- 
mendous sayings  of  the  Psalms ;  women  coarse,  or 
worn,  or  hopeless  ;  girls  and  boys  and  young  children 
already  blanched  and  emaciated  beyond  even  the  nor- 
mal Londoner  from  the  effects  of  insanitary  cottages, 
bad  water,  and  starvation  food — these  figures  and  types 
had  been  a  ghastly  and  quickening  revelation  to  Mar- 
cella.  In  London  the  agricultural  labourer,  of  whom 
she  had  heard  much,  had  been  to  her  as  a  pawn  in  the 
game  of  discussion.  Here  he  was  in  the  flesh;  and 
she  was  called  upon  to  live  with  him,  and  not  only  to 
talk  about  him.  Under  circumstances  of  peculiar 
responsibility  too.  For  it  was  very  clear  that  upon 
the  owner  of  Mellor  depended,  and  had  always  de- 
pended, the  labourer  of  Mellor. 

Well,  she  had  tried  to  live  with  them  ever  since  she 
came  —  had  gone  in  and  out  of  their  cottages  in  flat 
horror  and  amazement  at  them  and  their  lives  and  their 
surroundings ;  alternately  pleased  and  repelled  by  their 
cringing  ;  now  enjoying  her  position  among  them  with 
the  natural  aristocratic  instinct  of  women,  noAV  grind- 
ing her  teeth  over  her  father's  and  uncle's  behaviour 
and  the  little  good  she  saw  any  prospect  of  doing  for 
her  new  subjects. 

AVhat,  their  friend  and  champion,  and  ultimately 
their  redeemer  too  ?  Well,  and  why  not  ?  Weak 
women  have  done  greater  things  in  the  world.  As 
she  stood  on  the  chancel  step,  vowing  herself  to  these 
great  things,  she  was  conscious  of  a  dramatic  moment 


MAE CELL A.  49 

—  would  not  have  been  sorry,  perhaps,  if  some  admir- 
ing eye  could  have  seen  and  understood  her. 

But  there  was  a  saving  sincerity  at  the  root  of  her, 
and  her  strained  mood  sank  naturally  into  a  girlish 
excitement. 

"  We  shall  see  !  —  We  shall  see  !  "  she  said  aloud, 
and  was  startled  to  hear  her  words  quite  plainly  in  the 
silent  church.  As  she  spoke  she  stooped  to  separate 
her  flowers  and  see  what  quantities  she  had  of  each. 

But  while  she  did  so  a  sound  of  distant  voices  made 
her  raise  herself  again.  She  walked  (\o^v^l  the  church 
and  stood  at  the  open  south  door,  looking  and  waiting. 
Before  her  stretched  a  green  field  path  leading  across 
the  park  to  the  village.  The  vicar  and  his  sister  were 
coming  along  it  towards  the  church,  both  flower-laden, 
and  beside  walked  a  tall  man  in  a  brown  shooting  suit, 
with  his  gun  in  his  hand  and  his  dog  beside  him. 

The  excitement  in  Marcella's  eyes  leapt  up  afresh 
for  a  moment  as  she  saw  the  group,  and  then  subsided 
into  a  luminous  and  steady  glow.  She  waited  quietly 
for  them,  hardly  responding  to  the  affectionate  signals 
of  the  vicar's  sister;  but  inwardly  she  was  not  quiet 
at  all.  For  the  tall  man  in  the  brown  shooting  coat 
was  Mr.  Aldous  Raeburn. 


VOL.   I.  —  4 


CHAPTER   IV. 

^'  How  kind  of  you ! "  said  the  rector's  sister,  enthu- 
siastically ;  "  but  I  thought  you  would  come  and  help 
us." 

And  as  Marcella  took  some  of  her  burdens  from 
her,  Miss  Harden  kissed  Marcella's  cheek  with  a  sort 
of  timid  eagerness.  She  had  fallen  in  love  with  Miss 
Boyce  from  the  beginning,  was  now  just  advanced  to 
this  privilege  of  kissing,  and  being  entirely  convinced 
that  her  new  friend  possessed  all  virtues  and  all  knowl- 
edge, found  it  not  difficult  to  hold  that  she  had  been 
divinel}'  sent  to  sustain  her  brother  and  herself  in  the 
disheartening  task  of  civilising  Mellor.  Mary  Harden 
was  naturally  a  short,  roundly  made  girl,  neither 
pretty  nor  plain,  with  grey-blue  eyes,  a  shy  manner, 
and  a  heart  all  goodness.  Her  brother  was  like  unto 
her  —  also  short,  round,  and  full-faced,  with  the  same 
attractive  eyes.  Both  were  singularly  young  in  aspect 
—  a  boy  and  girl  pair.  Both  had  the  worn,  pinched 
look  which  Mrs.  Boyce  complained  of,  and  which, 
indeed,  went  oddly  with  their  whole  physique.  It 
was  as  though  creatures  built  for  a  normal  life  of 
easy  give  and  take  with  their  fellows  had  fallen  upon 
some  unfitting  and  jarring  experience.  One  striking 
difference,  indeed,  there  was  between  them,  for  amid 
the  brother's  timidity  and  sweetness  there  lay,  clearly 

50 


MARCELLA.  51 

to  be  felt  and  seen,  the  consciousness  of  the  priest  — 
nascent  and  immature,  but  already  urging  and  charac- 
teristic. 

Only  one  face  of  the  three  showed  any  other  emo- 
tion than  quick  pleasure  at  the  sight  of  Marcella 
l>oyce.  Aldous  Kaeburn  was  clearly  embarrassed 
thereby.  Indeed,  as  he  laid  down  his  gun  outside  the 
low  churchyard  wall,  while  Marcella  and  the  Hardens 
were  greeting,  that  generally  self-possessed  though 
modest  person  was  conscious  of  a  quite  disabling  per- 
turbation of  mind.  Why  m  the  name  of  all  good 
manners  and  decency  had  he  allowed  himself  to  be 
discovered  in  shooting  trim,  on  that  particular  morn- 
ing, by  Mr.  Boyce's  daughter  on  her  father's  land, 
and  within  a  stone's  throw  of  her  father's  house  ? 
Was  he  not  perfectly  well  aware  of  the  curt  note 
which  his  grandfather  had  that  morning  despatched 
to  the  new  owner  of  Mellor  ?  Had  he  not  ineffect- 
ually tried  to  delay  execution  the  night  before,  thereby 
puzzling  and  half-offending  his  grandfather?  Had 
not  the  incident  weighed  on  him  ever  since,  wounding 
an  admiration  and  sympathy  which  seemed  to  have 
stolen  upon  him  in  the  dark,  during  these  few  weeks 
since  he  had  made  Miss  Boyce's  acquaintance,  so  strong 
and  startling  did  he  all  in  a  moment  feel  them  to  be  ? 

And  then  to  intrude  upon  her  thus,  out  of  nothing 
apparently  but  sheer  moth-like  incapacity  to  keep 
away  !  The  church  footpath  indeed  was  public  prop- 
erty, and  Miss  Harden's  burdens  had  cried  aloud  to 
any  passing  male  to  help  her.  But  why  in  this  neigh- 
bourhood at  all  ?  —  why  not  rather  on  the  other  side 
of  the  county  ?     He  could  have  scourged  himself  on 


52  MARCELLA, 

the  spot  for  an  unpardonable  breach  of  manners  and 
feeling. 

However,  Miss  Boyce  certainly  made  no  sign.  She 
received  him  without  any  empressement,  but  also  with- 
out the  smallest  symptom  of  offence.  They  all  moved 
into  the  church  together,  Mr.  Eaeburn  carrying  a  vast 
bundle  of  ivy  and  fern,  the  rector  and  his  sister  laden 
with  closely-packed  baskets  of  cut  flowers.  Every- 
thing was  laid  down  on  the  chancel  steps  beside  Mar- 
cella's  contribution,  and  then  the  Hardens  began  to 
plan  out  operations.  Miss  Harden  ran  over  on  her 
fingers  the  contributions  which  had  been  sent  in  to 
the  rectory,  or  were  presently  coming  over  to  the 
church  in  a  hand-cart.  "  Lord  Maxwell  has  sent  the 
most  beautiful  pots  for  the  chancel,"  she  said,  with  a 
grateful  look  at  young  Kaeburn.  "It  will  be  quite 
a  show."  To  which  the  young  rector  assented  warmly. 
It  was  very  good,  indeed,  of  Lord  MaxAvell  to  remem- 
ber them  always  so  liberally  at  times  like  these,  when 
they  had  so  little  direct  claim  upon  him.  They  were 
not  his  church  or  his  parish,  but  he  never  forgot  them 
all  the  same,  and  Mellor  was  grateful.  The  rector 
had  all  his  sister's  gentle  effusiveness,  but  a  profes- 
sional dignity  besides,  even  in  his  thanks,  which  made 
itself  felt. 

Marcella  flushed  as  he  was  speaking. 

"I  went  to  see  what  I  could  get  in  the  way  of 
greenhouse  things,"  she  said  in  a  sudden  proud  voice. 
"But  we  have  nothing.  There  are  the  houses,  but 
there  is  nothing  in  them.  But  you  shall  have  all  our 
out-of-door  flowers,  and  I  think  a  good  deal  might  be 
done  with  autumn  leaves  and  wild  things  if  you  will 
let  me  try." 


MABCELLA.  53 

A  speech  which  brought  a  flush  to  Mr.  Eaeburn's 
cheek  as  he  stood  in  the  background,  and  led  Mary 
Harden  into  an  eager  asking  of  Marcella's  counsels, 
and  an  eager  praising  of  her  floAvers. 

Aldous  Eaeburn  said  nothing,  but  his  discomfort 
increased  with  every  moment.  Why  had  his  grand- 
father been  so  oflB.cious  in  this  matter  of  the  flowers  ? 
All  very  well  when  Mellor  was  empty,  or  in  the  days 
of  a  miser  and  eccentric,  without  womankind,  like 
Robert  Boyce.  But  now  —  the  act  began  to  seem  to 
him  offensive,  a  fresh  affront  offered  to  an  unprotected 
girl,  whose  quivering  sensitive  look  as  she  stood  talk- 
ing to  the  Hardens  touched  him  profoundly.  Mellor 
church  might  almost  be  regarded  as  the  Boyces'  pri- 
vate chapel,  so  bound  up  was  it  with  the  family  and  the 
house.  He  realised  painfully  that  he  ought  to  be 
gone  —  yet  could  not  tear  himself  away.  Her  passion- 
ate willingness  to  spend  herself  for  the  place  and  peo- 
ple she  had  made  her  own  at  first  sight,  checked  every 
now  and  then  by  a  proud  and  sore  reserve  —  it  was 
too  pretty,  too  sad.  It  stung  and  spurred  him  as  he 
watched  her ;  one  moment  his  foot  moved  for  depart- 
ure, the  next  he  was  resolving  that  somehow  or  other 
he  must  make  speech  with  her  —  excuse  —  explain. 
Ridiculous !  How  was  it  possible  that  he  should  do 
either ! 

He  had  met  her  —  perhaps  had  tried  to  meet  her  — 
tolerably  often  since  their  first  chance  encounter  weeks 
ago  in  the  vicarage  drawing-room.  All  through  there 
had  been  on  his  side  the  uncomfortable  knowledge  of 
his  grandfather's  antipathy  to  Richard  Boyce,  and  of 
the  social  steps  to  which   that   antipathy  would  in- 


54  MARCELLA. 

evitably  lead.  But  Miss  Boyce  had  never  shown  the 
smallest  consciousness,  so  far,  of  anything  untoward 
or  unusual  in  her  position.  She  had  been  clearly 
taken  up  with  the  interest  and  pleasure  of  this  new 
spectacle  upon  which  she  had  entered.  The  old 
house,  its  associations,  its  history,  the  beautiful  coun- 
try in  which  it  lay,  the  speech  and  characteristics  of 
rural  labour  as  compared  with  that  of  the  town,  —  he 
had  heard  her  talk  of  all  these  things  with  a  fresh- 
ness, a  human  sympathy,  a  freedom  from  conventional 
phrase,  and,  no  doubt,  a  touch  of  egotism  and  extrava- 
gance, which  rivetted  attention.  The  egotism  and  ex- 
travagance, however,  after  a  first  moment  of  critical 
discomfort  on  his  part,  had  not  in  the  end  repelled 
him  at  all.  The  girl's  vivid  beauty  glorified  them; 
made  them  seem  to  him  a  mere  special  fulness  of  life. 
So  that  in  his  new  preoccupation  with  herself,  and  by 
contact  with  her  frank  self-confidence,  he  had  almost 
forgotten  her  position,  and  his  own  indirect  relation 
to  it.  Then  had  come  that  unlucky  note  from  Mellor ; 
his  grandfather's  prompt  reply  to  it ;  his  own  ineffec- 
tive protest;  and  now  this  tongue-tiedness  —  this 
clumsy  intrusion  —  which  she  must  feel  to  be  an  in- 
delicacy —  an  outrage. 

Suddenly  he  heard  Miss  Harden  saying,  with  peni- 
tent emphasis,  "  I  am  stupid  !  I  have  left  the  scissors 
and  the  wire  on  the  table  at  home ;  we  can't  get  on 
without  them  ;  it  is  really  too  bad  of  me." 

"  I  will  go  for  them,"  said  Marcella  promptly.  "  Here 
is  the  hand-cart  just  arrived  and  some  people  come  to 
help ;  you  can't  be  spared.     I  will  be  back  directly." 

And,  gathering  up  her  black  skirt  in  a  slim  white 


MARCELLA.  55 

hand,  she  sped  down  the  church,  and  was  out  of  the 
south  door  before  the  Hardens  had  time  to  protest,  or 
Aklous  Raeburn  understood  what  she  was  doing. 

A  vexed  word  from  Miss  Harden  enlightened  him, 
and  he  went  after  the  fugitive,  overtaking  her  just 
where  his  gun  and  dog  lay,  outside  the  churchyard. 

"  Let  me  go,  Miss  Boyce,"  he  said,  as  he  caught  her 
up.     "  My  dog  and  I  will  run  there  and  back." 

But  Marcella  hardly  looked  at  him,  or  paused. 

"  Oh  no ! "  she  said  quickly,  "  I  should  like  the 
walk." 

He  hesitated ;  then,  with  a  flush  which  altered  his 
usually  quiet,  self-contained  expression,  he  moved  on 
beside  her. 

"  Allow  me  to  go  with  you  then.  You  are  sure  to 
find  fresh  loads  to  bring  back.  If  it's  like  our  harvest, 
festival,  the  things  keep  dropping  in  all  day." 

Marcella's  eyes  were  still  on  the  ground. 

"  I  thought  you  were  on  your  way  to  shoot,  Mr. 
Eaeburn  ?  " 

"  So  I  was,  but  there  is  no  hurry  ;  if  I  can  be  useful. 
Both  the  birds  and  the  keeper  can  wait." 

"  Where  are  you  going  ?  " 

"  To  some  ontlying  fields  of  ours  on  the  Windmill 
Hill.  There  is  a  tenant  there  who  wants  to  see 
me.  He  is  a  prosy  person  with  a  host  of  grievances. 
I  took  my  gun  as  a  possible  means  of  escape  from 
him." 

"Windmill  Hill?  I  know  the  name.  Oh!  I  re- 
member :  it  was  there  —  my  father  has  just  been  telling 
me  —  that  your  father  and  he  shot  the  pair  of  kestrels, 
when  they  were  boys  together." 


66  MARCELLA. 

Her  tone  was  quite  liglit,  but  someliow  it  had 
an  accent,  an  emphasis,  which  made  Aldous  Raeburn 
supremely  uncomfortable.  In  his  disquiet,  he  thought 
of  various  things  to  say ;  but  he  was  not  ready,  nor 
naturally  effusive ;  the  turn  of  them  did  not  please 
him  ;  and  he  remained  silent. 

Meantime  Marcella's  heart  was  beating  fast.  She 
was  meditating  a  coup. 

"  Mr.  Eaeburn !  " 

"  Yes  ! " 

'^  Will  you  think  me  a  very  extraordinary  person  if 
I  ask  you  a  question  ?  Your  father  and  mine  were 
great  friends,  weren't  they,  as  boys?  —  your  family 
and  mine  were  friends,  altogether  ?  " 

"  I  believe  so  —  I  have  always  heard  so,"  said  her 
companion,  flushing  still  redder. 

"  You  knew  Uncle  Robert  —  Lord  Maxwell  did  ?  " 

"Yes  —  as  much  as  anybody  knew  him  —  but  —  '^ 

"  Oh,  I  know :  he  shut  himself  up  and  hated  his 
neighbours.  Still  you  knew  him,  and  papa  and  your 
father  were  boys  together.  Well  then,  if  you  won't 
mind  telling  me  —  I  know  it's  bold  to  ask,  but  I  have 
reasons  —  why  does  Lord  Maxwell  write  to  papa  in 
the  third  person,  and  why  has  your  aunt.  Miss  Eae- 
burn,  never  found  time  in  all  these  weeks  to  call  on 
mamma  ?  " 

She  turned  and  faced  him,  her  splendid  eyes  one 
challenge.  The  glow  and  hre  of  the  whole  gesture  — 
the  daring  of  it,  and  yet  the  suggestion  of  womanish 
weakness  in  the  hand  which  trembled  against  her 
dress  and  in  the  twitching  lip  —  if  it  had  been  fine 
acting,  it  could  not  have  been  more  complete.     And, 


MARCELLA.  57 

in  a  sense,  acting  there  was  in  it.  Marcella's  emo- 
tions were  real,  but  her  mind  seldom  deserted  her. 
One  half  of  her  was  impulsive  and  passionate ;  the 
other  half  looked  on  and  put  in  finishing  touches. 

Acting  or  no,  the  surprise  of  her  outburst  swept  the 
man  beside  her  off  his  feet.  He  found  himself  floun- 
dering in  a  sea  of  excuses  —  not  for  his  relations,  but 
for  himself.  He  ought  never  to  have  intruded;  it 
was  odious,  unpardonable ;  he  had  no  business  what- 
ever to  put  himself  in  her  way !  Would  she  please 
understand  that  it  was  an  accident  ?  It  should  not 
happen  again.  He  quite  understood  that  she  could 
not  regard  him  with  friendliness.  And  so  on.  He 
had  never  so  lost  his  self-possession. 

Meanwhile  Marcella's  brows  contracted.  She  took 
his  excuses  as  a  fresh  offence. 

^'  You  mean,  I  suppose,  that  I  have  no  right  to  ask 
such  questions!'^  she  cried;  ''that  I  am  not  behaving 
like  a  lady  —  as  one  of  your  relations  would  ?  Well, 
I  dare  say !  I  was  not  brought  up  like  that.  I  was 
not  brought  up  at  all;  I  have  had  to  make  myself. 
So  you  must  avoid  me  if  you  like.  Of  course  you  will. 
But  I  resolved  there  —  in  the  church  —  that  I  would 
make  just  one  effort,  before  everything  crystallises,  to 
break  through.  If  we  must  live  on  here  hating  our 
neighbours  and  being  cut  by  them,  I  thought  I  would 
just  ask  you  why,  first.  There  is  no  one  else  to  ask. 
Hardly  anybody  has  called,  except  the  Hardens,  and  a 
few  new  people  that  don't  matter.  And  /  have  nothing 
to  be  ashamed  of,"  said  the  girl  passionately,  ''nor  has 
mamma.  Papa,  I  suppose,  did  some  bad  things  long 
ago.    I  have  never  known  —  I  don't  know  now  —  what 


58  MARCELLA. 

they  were.  But  I  should  like  to  understand.  Is  every- 
body going  to  cut  us  because  of  that  ?  " 

With  a  great  effort  Aldous  Raeburn  pulled  himself 
together,  certain  fine  instincts  both  of  race  and  con- 
duct coming  to  his  help.  He  met  her  excited  look  by 
one  which  had  both  dignity  and  friendliness. 

"I  will  tell  you  what  I  can,  Miss  Boyce.  If  you 
ask  me,  it  is  right  I  should.  You  must  forgive  me  if 
I  say  anything  that  hurts  you.  I  will  try  not  —  I  will 
try  not !  "  he  repeated  earnestly.  "  In  the  first  place, 
I  know  hardly  anything  in  detail.  I  do  not  remember 
that  I  have  ever  wished  to  know.  But  I  gather  that 
some  years  ago  —  when  I  was  still  a  lad  —  something 
in  Mr.  Boyce's  life  —  some  financial  matters,  I  believe 
—  during  the  time  that  he  was  member  of  Parlia- 
ment, made  a  scandal,  and  especially  among  his  family 
and  old  friends.  It  was  the  effect  upon  his  old  father, 
I  think,  who,  as  you  know,  died  soon  afterwards  —  '^ 

Marcella  started. 

"  I  didn't  know,"  she  said  quickly. 

Aldous  Raeburn' s  distress  grew. 

"I  really  oughtn't  to  speak  of  these  things,"  he 
said,  "  for  I  don't  know  them  accurately.  But  I  want 
to  answer  what  you  said — I  do  indeed.  It  was  that, 
I  think,  chiefly.  Everybody  here  respected  and  loved 
your  grandfather  —  my  grandfather  did  —  and  there 
was  great  feeling  for  him  —  " 

"  I  see !  I  see  !  "  said  Marcella,  her  chest  heaving ; 
"and  against  papa." 

She  walked  on  quickly,  hardly  seeing  where  she 
was  going,  her  eyes  dim  with  tears.  There  was  a 
wretched  pause.     Then  Aldous  Raeburn  broke  out  — 


MARC  ELL  A.  59 

"  But  after  all  it  is  very  long  ago.  And  there  may- 
have  been  some  harsh  judgment.  My  grandfather 
may  have  been  misinformed  as  to  some  of  the  facts. 
And  I  —  " 

He  hesitated,  struck  with  the  awkwardness  of  what 
he  was  going  to  say.     But  Marcella  understood  him. 

"  And  you  will  try  and  make  him  alter  his  mind  ?  " 
she  said,  not  ungratefully,  but  still  with  a  touch  of 
sarcasm  in  her  tone.  "No,  Mr.  Raeburn,  I  don't 
think  that  will  succeed." 

They  walked  on  in  silence  for  a  little  while.  At 
last  he  said,  turning  upon  her  a  face  in  which  she 
could  not  but  see  the  true  feeling  of  a  just  and  kindly 
man  — 

"I  meant  that  if  my  grandfather  could  be  led  to 
express  himself  in  a  way  which  Mr.  Boyce  could 
accept,  even  if  there  were  no  great  friendship  as  there 
used  to  be,  there  might  be  something  better  than  this 
—  this,  which  —  which  —  is  so  painful.  And  any 
way,  Miss  Boyce,  whatever  happens,  will  you  let  me 
say  this  once,  that  there  is  no  word,  no  feeling  in  this 
neighbourhood  —  how  could  there  be  ?  —  towards  you 
and  your  mother,  but  one  of  respect  and  admiration  ? 
Do  believe  that,  even  if  you  feel  that  you  can  never 
be  friendly  towards  me  and  mine  again  —  or  forget 
the  things  I  have  said ! " 

"  Respect  and  admiration  !  "  said  Marcella,  wonder- 
ing, and  still  scornful.  ''  Pity,  perhaps.  There  might 
be  that.  But  any  way  mamma  goes  with  papa.  She 
always  has  done.  She  always  will.  So  shall  I,  of 
course.  But  I  am  sorry  —  horrihly  sore  and  sorry! 
I  was  so  delighted  to  come  here.     I  have  been  very 


60  MARCELLA. 

little  at  home,  and  understood  hardly  anything  about 
this  worry  —  not  how  serious  it  was,  nor  what  it 
meant.  Oh!  I  am  sorry  —  there  was  so  much  I 
wanted  to  do  here  —  if  anybody  could  only  under- 
stand what  it  means  to  me  to  come  to  this  place ! " 

They  had  reached  the  brow  of  a  little  rising  ground. 
Just  below  them,  beyond  a  stubble  field  in  which  there 
were  a  few  bent  forms  of  gleaners,  lay  the  small  scat- 
tered village,  hardly  seen  amid  its  trees,  the  curls  of 
its  blue  smoke  ascending  steadily  on  this  calm  Septem- 
ber morning  against  a  great  belt  of  distant  beechwood 
which  begirt  the  hamlet  and  the  common  along  which 
it  lay.  The  stubble  field  was  a  feast  of  shade  and  tint, 
of  apricots  and  golds  shot  with  the  subtlest  purples 
and  browns  ;  the  flame  of  the  wild-cherry  leaf  and  the 
deeper  crimson  of  the  haws  made  every  hedge  a  won- 
der ;  the  apples  gleamed  in  the  cottage  garden  ;  and  a 
cloudless  sun  poured  down  on  field  and  hedge,  and  on 
the  half-hidden  medley  of  tiled  roofs,  sharp  gables,  and 
jutting  dormers  which  made  the  village. 

Instinctively  both  stopped,  Marcella  locked  her 
hands  behind  her  in  a  gesture  familiar  to  her  in 
moments  of  excitement;  the  light  wind  blew  back 
her  dress  in  soft,  eddying  folds ;  for  the  moment,  in 
her  tall  grace,  she  had  the  air  of  some  young  Victory 
poised  upon  a  height,  till  you  looked  at  her  face, 
which  was,  indeed,  not  exultant  at  all,  but  tragic, 
extravagantly  tragic,  as  Aldous  Kaeburn,  in  his  English 
reserve,  would  perhaps  have  thought  in  the  case  of  any 
woman  with  tamer  eyes  and  a  less  winning  mouth. 

"I  don't  want  to  talk  about  myself,"  she  began. 
"But  you  know,  Mr.   Raeburn  —  you  must  know  — 


MARCELLA.  61 

what  a  state  of  things  there  is  here  —  you  know  what 
a  disgrace  that  village  is.  Oh !  one  reads  books,  but 
I  never  thought  people  could  actually  live  like  that  — 
here  in  the  wide  country,  with  room  for  all.  It  makes 
me  lie  awake  at  night.  We  are  not  rich  —  we  are  very 
poor  —  the  house  is  all  out  of  repair,  and  the  estate,  as 
of  course  you  know,  is  in  a  wretched  condition.  But 
when  I  see  these  cottages,  and  the  water,  and  the 
children,  I  ask  what  right  we  have  to  anything  we  get. 
I  had  some  friends  in  London  who  were  Socialists,  and 
I  followed  and  agreed  with  them,  but  here  one  sees ! 
Yes,  indeed !  —  it  is  too  great  a  risk  to  let  the  indi- 
vidual alone  when  all  these  lives  depend  upon  him. 
Uncle  Robert  was  an  eccentric  and  a  miser ;  and  look 
at  the  death-rate  of  the  village  —  look  at  the  children  ; 
you  can  see  how  it  has  crushed  the  Hardens  already. 
No,  we  have  no  right  to  it !  —  it  ought  to  be  taken  from 
us  ;  some  day  it  will  be  taken  from  us  !  " 

Aldous  Eaeburn  smiled,  and  was  himself  again.  A 
woman's  speculations  were  easier  to  deal  with  than  a 
woman's  distress. 

^^It  is  not  so  hopeless  as  that,  I  think,"  he  said 
kindly.  "  The  Mellor  cottages  are  in  a  bad  state  cer- 
tainly. But  you  have  no  idea  how  soon  a  little  energy 
and  money  and  thought  sets  things  to  rights." 

"But  we  have  no  money!"  cried  Marcella.  "And 
if  he  is  miserable  here,  my  father  will  have  no  energ}^ 
to  do  anything.  He  will  not  care  what  happens.  He 
will  defy  everybody,  and  just  spend  what  he  has  on 
himself.  And  it  will  make  me  wretched  —  wretched. 
Look  at  that  cottage  to  the  right,  Mr.  Raeburn.  It  is 
Jim  Hurd's  —  a  man  who  works  mainly  on  the  Church 


62  MARCELLA. 

Farm,  when  he  is  in  work.  But  he  is  deformed,  and 
not  so  strong  as  others.  The  farmers  too  seem  to  be 
cutting  down  labour  everywhere  —  of  course  I  don't 
understand  —  I  am  so  new  to  it.  Hurd  and  his  family 
had  an  awful  winter,  last  winter  —  hardly  kept  body 
and  soul  together.  And  now  he  is  out  of  work  already 
—  the  man  at  the  Church  Farm  turned  him  off  directly 
after  harvest.  He  sees  no  prospect  of  getting  work 
by  the  winter.  He  spends  his  days  tramping  to  look 
for  it ;  but  nothing  turns  up.  Last  winter  they  parted 
with  all  they  could  sell.  This  winter  it  must  be  the 
workhouse !  It's  heart-breaking.  And  he  has  a  mind ; 
he  can  feel !  I  lend  him  the  Labour  paper  I  take  in, 
and  get  him  to  talk.  He  has  more  education  than 
most,  and  oh!  the  bitterness  at  the  bottom  of  him. 
But  not  against  persons  —  individuals.  It  is  like  a 
sort  of  blind  patience  when  you  come  to  that  —  they 
make  excuses  even  for  Uncle  Robert,  to  whom  they 
have  paid  rent  all  these  years  for  a  cottage  which  is  a 
crime  —  yes,  a  crime !  The  woman  must  have  been 
such  a  pretty  creature  —  and  refined  too.  She  is  con- 
sumptive, of  course  —  what  else  could  you  expect  with 
that  cottage  and  that  food  ?  So  is  the  eldest  boy  —  a 
little  white  atomy !  And  the  other  children.  Talk  of 
London  —  I  never  saw  such  sickly  objects  as  there  are 
in  this  village.  Twelve  shillings  a  week,  and  work 
about  half  the  year !  Oh !  they  ojight  to  hate  us  !  —  I 
try  to  make  them,"  cried  Marcella,  her  eyes  gleaming. 
"They  ought  to  hate  all  of  us  landowners,  and  the 
whole  wicked  system.  It  keeps  them  from  the  land 
which  they  ought  to  be  sharing  with  us  ;  it  makes  one 
man  master,  instead  of  all  men  brothers.     And  who  is 


MARCELLA.  63 

fit  to  be  master?  Which  of  us?  Everybody  is  so 
ready  to  take  the  charge  of  other  people's  lives,  and 
then  look  at  the  result ! " 

"  Well,  the  result,  even  in  rural  England,  is  not 
always  so  bad,"  said  Aldous  Raeburn,  smiling  a  little, 
but  more  coldly.  INIarcella,  glancing  at  him,  under- 
stood in  a  moment  that  she  had  roused  a  certain  fam- 
ily and  class  pride  in  him  —  a  pride  which  was  not 
going  to  assert  itself,  but  none  the  less  implied  the 
sudden  opening  of  a  gTilf  between  herself  and  him. 
In  an  instant  her  quick  imagination  realised  herself 
as  the  daughter  and  niece  of  two  discredited  members 
of  a  great  class.  When  she  attacked  the  class,  or  the 
system,  the  man  beside  her  —  any  man  in  similar  cir- 
cumstances —  must  naturally  think :  "  Ah,  well,  poor 
girl  — Dick  Boyce's  daughter  —  what  can  you  expect  ?  " 
W^hereas  —  Aldous  Eaeburn  !  —  she  thought  of  the  dig- 
nity of  the  Maxwell  name,  of  the  width  of  the  Max- 
well possessions,  balanced  only  by  the  high  reputation 
of  the  family  for  honourable,  just  and  Christian  liv- 
ing, whether  as  amongst  themselves  or  towards  their 
neighbours  and  dependents.  A  shiver  of  passionate 
vanity,  wrath,  and  longing  passed  through  her  as  her 
tall  frame  stiffened. 

"There  are  model  squires,  of  course,"  she  said 
slowly,  striving  at  least  for  a  personal  dignity  which 
should  match  his.  "  There  are  plenty  of  landowners 
who  do  their  duty  as  they  understand  it  —  no  one 
denies  that.  But  that  does  not  affect  the  system ; 
the  grandson  of  the  best  man  may  be  the  worst,  but 
his  one-man  power  remains  the  same.  No !  the  time 
has  come  for  a  wider  basis.     Paternal  government  and 


64  MARCELLA. 

charity  were  very  well  in  their  way  —  democratic  self- 
government  will  manage  to  do  without  them  !" 

She  flung  him  a  gay,  quivering,  defiant  look.  It 
delighted  her  to  pit  these  wide  and  threatening  gener- 
alisations against  the  Maxwell  power  —  to  show  the 
heir  of  it  that  she  at  least — father  or  no  father  — 
was  no  hereditary  subject  of  his,  and  bound  to  no 
blind  admiration  of  the  Maxwell  methods  and  posi- 
tion. 

Aldous  Raeburn  took  her  onslaught  very  calmly, 
smiling  frankly  back  at  her  indeed  all  the  time.  Miss 
Boyce's  opinions  could  hardly  matter  to  him  intel- 
lectually, whatever  charm  and  stimulus  he  might 
find  in  her  talk.  This  subject  of  the  duties,  rights, 
and  prospects  of  his  class  went,  as  it  happened, 
very  deep  with  him  —  too  deep  for  chance  discussion. 
What  she  said,  if  he  ever  stopped  to  think  of  it  in 
itself,  seemed  to  him  a  compound  of  elements  derived 
partly  from  her  personal  history,  partly  from  the  ran- 
dom opinions  that  young  people  of  a  generous  type 
pick  up  from  newspapers  and  magazines.  She  had 
touched  his  family  pride  for  an  instant ;  but  only  for 
an  instant.  What  he  was  abidingly  conscious  of,  was 
of  a  beautiful  wild  creature  struggling  with  difficulties 
in  which  he  was  somehow  himself  concerned,  and  out 
of  which,  in  some  way  or  other,  he  was  becoming  more 
and  more  determined  —  absurdly  determined  —  to  help 
her. 

"  Oh  !  no  doubt  the  world  will  do  very  well  without 
us  some  day,"  he  said  lightly,  in  answer  to  her  tirade ; 
"  no  one  is  indispensable.  But  are  you  so  sure,  ]\Iiss 
Boyce,  you  believe  in  your  own  creed  ?     I  thought  I 


MARCELLA.  65 

had  observed  —  pardon  me  for  saying  it  —  on  the  two 
or  three  occasions  we  have  met,  some  degenerate  signs 
of  individualism  ?  You  take  pleasure  in  the  old  place, 
you  say ;  you  were  delighted  to  come  and  live  Avhere 
your  ancestors  lived  before  you ;  you  are  full  of  desires 
to  pull  these  poor  people  out  of  the  mire  in  your 
own  way.  No !  I  don't  feel  that  you  are  thorough- 
going ! " 

Marcella  paused  a  frowning  moment,  then  broke 
suddenly  into  a  delightful  laugh — a  laugh  of  humorous 
confession,  which  changed  her  whole  look  and  mood. 

'^  Is  that  all  you  have  noticed  ?  If  you  wish  to 
know,  ^Ir.  Raeburn,  I  love  the  labourers  for  touching 
their  hats  to  me.  I  love  the  school  children  for  bob- 
bing to  me.  I  love  my  very  self  —  ridiculous  as  you 
may  think  it  —  for  being  Miss  Boyce  of  Mellor!" 

"  Don't  say  things  like  that,  please ! "  he  inter- 
rupted; "1  think  I  have  not  deserved  them." 

His  tone  made  her  repent  her  gibe.  ''  ^o,  indeed, 
you  have  been  most  kind  to  me,"  she  cried.  "  I  don't 
know  how  it  is.  I  am  bitter  and  personal  in  a  mo- 
ment —  when  I  don't  mean  to  be.  Yes  !  you  are  quite 
right.  I  am  proud  of  it  all.  If  nobody  comes  to  see 
us,  and  we  are  left  all  alone  out  in  the  cold,  I  shall 
still  have  room  enough  to  be  proud  in  —  proud  of  the 
old  house  and  our  few  bits  of  pictures,  and  the  family 
papers,  and  the  beeches !  How  absurd  it  would  seem 
to  other  people,  Avho  have  so  much  more  I  But  I  have 
had  so  little  —  so  little ! "  Her  voice  had  a  hungry 
lingering  note.  "  And  as  for  the  people,  yes,  I  am 
proud  too  that  they  like  me,  and  that  already  I  can 
influence  them.     Oh,  I  will  do  my  best  for  them,  my 

VOL.   I.  —5 


66  MAR  CELL  A. 

very  best !  But  it  will  be  hard,  very  hard,  if  there  is 
no  one  to  help  me !  " 

She  heaved  a  long  sigh.  In  spite  of  the  words, 
what  she  had  said  did  not  seem  to  be  an  appeal  for  his 
]3ity.  Eather  there  was  in  it  a  sweet  self-dedicating 
note  as  of  one  going  sadly  alone  to  a  painful  task, 
a  note  which  once  more  left  Aldous  Haeburn's  self- 
restraint  tottering.  She  was  walking  gently  beside 
him,  her  pretty  dress  trailing  lightly  over  the  dr}^ 
stubble,  her  hand  in  its  white  ruffles  hanging  so  close 
beside  him  —  after  all  her  prophetess  airs  a  pensive 
womanly  thing,  that  must  surely  hear  how  his  strong 
man's  heart  was  beginning  to  beat ! 

He  bent  over  to  her. 

"  Don't  talk  of  there  being  no  one  to  help  !  There 
may  be  many  ways  out  of  present  difficulties.  Mean- 
while, however  things  go,  could  you  be  large-minded 
enough  to  count  one  person  here  your  friend  ?  " 

She  looked  up  at  him.  Tall  as  she  was,  he  was 
taller  —  she  liked  that ;  she  liked  too  the  quiet  cautious 
strength  of  his  English  expression  and  bearing.  She 
did  not  think  him  handsome,  and  she  was  conscious  of 
no  thrill.  But  inwardly  her  quick  dramatising  imag- 
ination was  already  constructing  her  own  future  and 
his.  The  ambition  to  rule  leapt  in  her,  and  the  delight 
in  conquest.  It  was  with  a  delicious  sense  of  her  own 
power,  and  of  the  general  fulness  of  her  new  life,  that 
she  said,  "  I  am  large-minded  enough !  You  have  been 
very  kind,  and  I  have  been  very  wild  and  indiscreet. 
But  I  don't  regret:  I  am  sure,  if  you  can  help  me, 
you  will." 

There  was  a  little  pause.     They  were  standing  at 


MARCELLA.  67 

the  last  gate  before  the  miry  village  road  began,  and 
almost  in  sight  of  the  little  vicarage.  Aldous  Eae- 
burn,  with  his  hand  on  the  gate,  suddenly  gathered  a 
spra}^  of  travellers'- joy  out  of  the  hedge  beside  him. 

"  That  was  a  promise,  I  think,  and  I  keep  the 
pledge  of  it,"  he  said,  and  with  a  smile  put  the  cluster 
of  white  seed-tufts  and  green  leaves  into  one  of  the 
pockets  of  his  shooting  jacket. 

"  Oh,  don't  tie  me  down ! "  said  Marcella,  laughing, 
but  flushing  also.  "And  don't  you  think,  Mr.  Eae- 
burn,  that  you  might  open  that  gate?  At  least,  we 
can't  get  the  scissors  and  the  wire  unless  you  do." 


CHAPTER   V. 

The  autumn  evening  was  far  advanced  when  Aldous 
Eaeburn,  after  his  day's  shooting,  passed  again  by  the 
gates  of  Mellor  Park  on  his  road  home.  He  glanced 
up  the  ill-kept  drive,  with  its  fine  overhanging  limes, 
caught  a  glimpse  to  the  left  of  the  little  church,  and 
to  the  right,  of  the  long  eastern  front  of  the  house ; 
lingered"  a  moment  to  watch  the  sunset  light  stream- 
ing through  the  level  branches  of  two  distant  cedars, 
standing  black  and  sharp  against  the  fiery  west,  and 
then  walked  briskly  forwards  in  the  mood  of  a  man 
going  as  fast  as  may  be  to  an  appointment  he  both 
desires  and  dreads. 

He  had  given  his  giin  to  the  keeper,  who  had 
already  sped  far  ahead  of  him,  in  the  shooting-cart 
which  his  master  had  declined.  His  dog,  a  black 
retriever,  was  at  his  heels,  and  both  dog  and  man 
were  somewhat  weary  and  stiff  with  exercise.  But 
for  the  privilege  of  solitude,  Aldous  Eaeburn  would 
at  that  moment  have  faced  a  good  deal  more  than  the 
two  miles  of  extra  walking  Avhich  now  lay  between 
him  and  Maxwell  Court. 

About  him,  as  he  trudged  on,  lay  a  beautiful  world 
of  English  woodland.  After  he  had  passed  through 
the  hamlet  of  Mellor,  with  its  three-cornered  piece  of 
open  common,  and  its  patches  of  arable  —  represent- 


MABCELLA.  69 

ing  the  original  forest-clearing  raade  centuries  ago  by 
the  primitive  fathers  of  the  village  in  this  corner  of 
the  Chiltern  uplands  —  the  beech  woods  closed  thickly 
round  him.  Beech  woods  of  all  kinds  —  from  forest 
slopes,  where  majestic  trees,  grey  and  soaring  pillars 
of  the  woodland  roof,  stood  in  stately  isolation  on  the 
dead-leaf  carpet  woven  by  the  years  about  their  carved 
and  polished  bases,  to  the  close  plantations  of  young 
trees,  where  the  saplings  crowded  on  each  other,  and 
here  and  there  amid  the  airless  tangle  of  leaf  and 
branch  some  long  pheasant-drive,  cut  straight  through 
the  green  heart  of  the  wood,  refreshed  the  seeking 
eye  with  its  arched  and  far-receding  path.  Two  or 
three  times  on  his  walk  Aldous  heard  from  far  within 
the  trees  the  sounds  of  hatchet  and  turner's  wheel, 
which  told  him  he  was  passing  one  of  the  wood- 
cutter's huts  that  in  the  hilly  parts  of  this  district 
supply  the  first  simple  steps  of  the  chairmaking  in- 
dustry, carried  on  in  the  little  factory  towns  of  the 
more  populous  valleys.  And  two  or  three  times  also 
he  passed  a  string  of  the  great  timber  carts  which 
haunt  the  Chiltern  lanes ;  the  patient  team  of  brown 
horses  straining  at  the  weight  behind  them,  the  vast 
prostrate  trunks  rattling  in  their  chains,  and  the 
smoke  from  the  carters'  pipes  rising  slowly  into  the 
damp  sunset  air.  But  for  the  most  part  the  road 
along  which  he  walked  was  utterly  forsaken  of  human 
kind.  Xor  were  there  any  signs  of  habitation  —  no 
cottages,  no  farms.  He  was  scarcely  more  than  thirty 
miles  from  London ;  yet  in  this  solemn  evening  glow 
it  would  have  been  hardly  possible  to  find  a  remoter, 
lonelier  nature  than  that  through  which  he  was 
passing. 


70  MABCELLA. 

And  presently  the  solitude  took  a  grander  note.  He 
was  nearing  the  edge  of  the  high  upland  along  Avhich 
he  had  been  walking.  In  front  of  him  the  long  road 
with  its  gleaming  pools  bent  sharply  to  the  left,  show- 
ing pale  and  distinct  against  a  darkening  heaven  and 
the  wide  grey  fields  which  had  now,  on  one  side  of  his 
path,  replaced  the  serried  growth  of  young  plantations. 
Night  was  fast  advancing  from  south  and  east  over  the 
upland.  But  straight  in  front  of  him  and  on  his  right, 
the  forest  trees,  still  flooded  with  sunset,  fell  in  sharp 
steeps  towards  the  plain.  Through  their  straight 
stems  glowed  the  blues  and  purples  of  that  lower 
world ;  and  when  the  slopes  broke  and  opened  here 
and  there,  above  the  rounded  masses  of  their  red  and 
golden  leaf  the  level  distances  of  the  plain  could  be 
seen  stretching  away,  illimitable  in  the  evening  dusk, 
to  a  west  of  glory,  just  vacant  of  the  sun.  The  golden 
ball  had  sunk  into  the  mists  awaiting  it,  but  the  splen- 
dour of  its  last  rays  was  still  on  all  the  western  front 
of  the  hills,  bathing  the  beech  woods  as  they  rose  and 
fell  with  the  large  undulations  of  the  ground. 

Insensibly  Raeburn,  filled  as  he  was  with  a  new  and 
siu-ging  emotion,  drew  the  solemnity  of  the  forest 
glades  and  of  the  rolling  distances  into  his  heart. 
When  he  reached  the  point  where  the  road  diverged 
to  the  left,  he  mounted  a  little  grassy  ridge,  whence 
he  commanded  the  whole  sweep  of  the  hill  rampart 
from  north  to  west,  and  the  whole  expanse  of  the  low 
country  beneath,  and  there  stood  gazing  for  some  min- 
utes, lost  in  many  thoughts,  while  the  night  fell. 

He  looked  over  the  central  plain  of  England  —  the 
plain  which  stretches  westward  to  the  Thames  and  the 


MAR CELL A.  71 

Berkshire  hills,  and  northward  through  the  Bucking- 
hamshire and  Bedfordshire  lowlands  to  the  basin  of 
the  Trent.  An  historic  plain — symbolic,  all  of  it,  to 
an  English  eye.  There  in  the  western  distance,  amid 
the  light-filled  mists,  lay  Oxford  ;  in  front  of  him  was 
the  site  of  Chalgrove  Field,  where  Hampden  got  his 
clumsy  death  wound,  and  Thame,  where  he  died  ;  and 
far  away,  to  his  right,  where  the  hills  swept  to  the 
north,  he  could  just  discern,  gleaming  against  the  face 
of  the  down,  the  vast  scoured  cross,  whereby  a  Saxon 
king  had  blazoned  his  victory  over  his  Danish  foes  to 
all  the  plain  beneath. 

Aldous  Eaeburn  Avas  a  man  to  feel  these  things. 
He  had  seldom  stood  on  this  high  point,  in  such  an 
evening  calm,  without  the  expansion  in  him  of  all  that 
was  most  manly,  most  English,  most  strenuous.  If  it 
had  not  been  so,  indeed,  he  must  have  been  singularly 
dull  of  soul.  For  the  great  view  had  an  interest  for 
him  personally  it  could  hardly  have  possessed  to  the 
same  degree  for  any  other  man.  On  his  left  hand 
Maxwell  Court  rose  among  its  woods  on  the  brow  of 
the  hill  —  a  splendid  pile  which  some  day  would  be 
his.  Behind  him ;  through  all  the  upland  he  had  just 
traversed ;  beneath  the  point  where  he  stood ;  along 
the  sides  of  the  hills,  and  far  into  the  plain,  stretched 
the  land  which  also  would  be  his  —  which,  indeed, 
practically  was  already  his  —  for  his  grandfather  was 
an  old  man  with  a  boundless  trust  in  the  heir  on 
whom  his  affections  and  hopes  were  centred.  The 
dim  churches  scattered  over  the  immediate  plain 
below;  the  villages  clustered  round  them,  where 
dwelt  the  toilers  in  these  endless  fields :    the  farms 


72  MARCELLA. 

amid  their  trees  ;  the  cottages  showing  here  and  there 
on  the  fringes  of  the  wood  —  all  the  equipment  and 
organisation  of  popular  life  over  an  appreciable  part 
of  the  English  midland  at  his  feet,  depended  to  an 
extent  hardly  to  be  exaggerated,  under  the  conditions 
of  the  England  of  to-day,  upon  him  —  upon  his  one 
man's  brain  and  conscience,  the  degree  of  his  mental 
and  moral  capacity. 

In  his  first  youth,  of  course,  the  thought  had  often 
roused  a  boy's  tremulous  elation  and  sense  of  romance. 
Since  his  Cambridge  days,  and  of  late  years,  any  more 
acute  or  dramatic  perception  than  usual  of  his  lot  in 
life  had  been  wont  to  bring  with  it  rather  a  conscious- 
ness of  weight  than  of  inspiration.  Sensitive,  fastidi- 
ous, reflective,  he  was  disturbed  by  remorses  and  scru- 
ples which  had  never  plagued  his  forefathers.  During 
his  college  days,  the  special  circumstances  of  a  great 
friendship  had  drawn  him  into  the  full  tide  of  a  social 
speculation  which,  as  it  happened,  was  destined  to  go 
deeper  with  him  than  with  most  men.  The  responsi- 
bilities of  the  rich,  the  disadvantages  of  the  poor,  the 
relation  of  the  State  to  the  individual  —  of  the  old 
Eadical  dogma  of  free  contract  to  the  thwarting  facts 
of  social  inequality  ;  the  Tory  ideal  of  paternal  gov- 
ernment by  the  few  as  compared  with  the  Liberal 
ideal  of  self-government  by  the  many  :  these  common- 
places of  economical  and  political  discussion  had  very 
early  become  living  and  often  sore  realities  in  Aldous 
Eaeburn's  mind,  because  of  the  long  conflict  in  him, 
dating  from  his  Cambridge  life,  between  the  influences 
of  birth  and  early  education  and  the  influences  of  an 
admiring  and  profound  affection  which  had  opened  to 
him  the  gates  of  a  new  moral  world. 


MAR  CELL  A.  73 

Towards  the  close  of  his  first  year  at  Trinity,  a 
young  man  joined  the  college  who  rapidly  became,  in 
spite  of  various  practical  disadvantages,  a  leader  among 
the  best  and  keenest  of  his  fellows.  He  was  poor  and 
held  a  small  scholarship  ;  but  it  was  soon  plain  that 
his  health  was  not  equal  to  the  Tripos  routine,  and 
that  the  prizes  of  the  place,  brilliant  as  was  his  intel- 
lectual endowment,  were  not  for  him.  After  an  inward 
struggle,  of  which  none  perhaps  but  Aldous  Kaeburn 
had  any  exact  knowledge,  he  laid  aside  his  first  ambi- 
tions and  turned  himself  to  another  career.  A  couple 
of  hours'  serious  brainwork  in  the  day  was  all  that 
was  ever  possible  to  him  henceforward.  He  spent  it, 
as  well  as  the  thoughts  and  conversation  of  his  less 
strenuous  moments,  on  the  study  of  history  and  soci- 
ology, with  a  view  to  joining  the  staff  of  lecturers 
for  the  manufacturing  and  country  towns  which  the 
two  great  Universities,  touched  by  new  and  popular 
sympathies,  were  then  beginning  to  organise.  He  came 
of  a  stock  which  promised  well  for  such  a  pioneer's 
task.  His  father  had  been  an  able  factory  inspector, 
well-known  for  his  share  in^the  inauguration  and  re- 
vision of  certain  important  factory  reforms ;  the  son 
inherited  a  passionate  humanity  of  soul;  and  added 
to  it  a  magnetic  and  personal  charm  which  soon  made 
him  a  remarkable  power,  not  only  in  his  own  college, 
but  among  the  finer  spirits  of  the  University  generally. 
He  had  the  gift  which  enables  a  man,  sitting  perhaps 
after  dinner  in  a  mixed  society  of  his  college  contem- 
poraries, to  lead  the  way  imperceptibly  from  the  casual 
subjects  of  the  hour  —  the  river,  the  dons,  the  schools 
—  to  arguments  '•  of  great  pith  and  moment,"  discus- 


74  MARCELLA. 

sions  that  search  the  moral  and  intellectual  powers  of 
the  men  concerned  to  the  utmost,  without  exciting  dis- 
trust or  any  but  an  argumentative  opposition.  Edward 
Hallin  could  do  this  without  a  pose,  without  a  false 
note,  nay,  rather  by  the  natural  force  of  a  boyish  in- 
tensity and  simplicity.  To  many  a  Trinity  man  in 
after  life  the  memory  of  his  slight  figure  and  fair 
head,  of  the  eager  slightly  parted  mouth,  of  the  eyes 
glowing  with  some  inward  vision,  and  of  the  gesture 
with  which  he  would  spring  up  at  some  critical  point 
to  deliver  himself,  standing  amid  his  seated  and  often 
dissentient  auditors,  came  back  vivid  and  ineffaceable 
as  only  youth  can  make  the  image  of  its  prophets. 

Upon  Aldous  Eaeburn,  Edward  Hallin  produced 
from  the  first  a  deep  impression.  The  interests  to 
which  Hallin's  mind  soon  became  exclusively  devoted 
—  such  as  the  systematic  study  of  English  poverty, 
or  of  the  relation  of  religion  to  social  life,  reforms  of 
the  land  and  of  the  Church  —  overflowed  upon  E,ae- 
burn  with  a  kindling  and  disturbing  force.  Edward 
Hallin  was  his  gad-fly ;  and  he  had  no  resource, 
because  he  loved  his  tormentor. 

Fundamentally,  the  two  men  were  widely  different. 
Eaeburn  was  a  true  son  of  his  fathers,  possessed  by 
natural  inheritance  of  the  finer  instincts  of  aristocratic 
rule,  including  a  deep  contempt  for  mob-reason  and 
all  the  vulgarities  of  popular  rhetoric;  steeped,  too, 
in  a  number  of  subtle  prejudices,  and  in  a  silent  but 
intense  pride  of  family  of  the  nobler  sort.  He  fol- 
lowed with  disquiet  and  distrust  the  quick  motions 
and  conclusions  of  Hallin's  intellect.  Temperament 
and  the  Cambridge  discix^line  made  him  a  fastidious 


MAR  CELL  A.  15 

thinker  and  a  fine  scholar ;  his  mind  worked  slowly, 
yet  with  a  delicate  precision ;  and  his  generally  cold 
manner  was  the  natural  protection  of  feelings  which 
had  never  yet,  except  in  the  case  of  his  friendship 
with  Edward  Hallin,  led  him  to  much  personal  happi- 
ness. 

Hallin  left  Cambridge  after  a  pass  degree  to  become 
lecturer  on  industrial  and  economical  questions  in  the 
northern  English  towns.  Eaeburn  stayed  on  a  year 
longer,  found  himself  third  classic  and  the  winner  of 
a  Greek  verse  prize,  and  then,  sacrificing  the  idea  of 
a  fellowship,  returned  to  Maxwell  Court  to  be  his 
grandfather's  companion  and  helper  in  the  work  of 
the  estate,  his  family  proposing  that,  after  a  few 
years'  practical  experience  of  the  life  and  occupations 
of  a  country  gentleman,  he  should  enter  Parliament 
and  make  a  career  in  politics.  Since  then  five  or  six 
years  had  passed,  during  which  he  had  learned  to 
know  the  estate  thoroughly,  and  to  take  his  normal 
share  in  the  business  and  pleasures  of  the  neighbour- 
hood. For  the  last  two  years  he  had  been  his  grand- 
father's sole  agent,  a  poor-law  guardian  and  magistrate 
besides,  and  a  member  of  most  of  the  various  commit- 
tees for  social  and  educational  purposes  in  the  county. 
He  was  a  sufficiently  keen  sportsman  to  save  appear- 
ances with  his  class;  enjoyed  a  walk  after  the  par- 
tridges indeed,  with  a  friend  or  two,  as  much  as  most 
men ;  and  played  the  host  at  the  two  or  three  great 
battues  of  the  year  with  a  propriety  which  his  grand- 
father however  no  longer  mistook  for  enthusiasm. 
There  was  nothing  much  to  distinguish  him  from  any 
other  able  man  of  his  rank.     His  nei<?hbours  felt  him 


76  MARCELLA. 

to  be  a  personality,  but  thought  him  reserved  and 
difficult;  he  was  respected,  but  he  was  not  popular 
like  his  grandfather;  people  speculated  as  to  how 
he  would  get  on  in  Parliament,  or  whom  he  was  to 
marry ;  but,  except  to  the  dwellers  in  Maxwell  Court 
itself,  or  of  late  to  the  farmers  and  labourers  on 
the  estate,  it  would  not  have  mattered  much  to  any- 
body if  he  had  not  been  there.  Nobody  ever  con- 
nected any  romantic  thought  with  him.  There  was 
something  in  his  strong  build,  pale  but  healthy 
aquiline  face,  his  inconspicuous  brown  eyes  and 
hair,  which  seemed  from  the  beginning  to  mark  him 
out  as  the  ordinary  earthy  dweller  in  an  earthy 
world. 

Nevertheless,  these  years  had  been  to  Aldous  Kae- 
burn  years  marked  by  an  expansion  and  deepening  of 
the  whole  man,  such  as  few  are  capable  of.  Edward 
Hallin's  visits  to  the  Court,  the  walking  tours  which 
brought  the  two  friends  together  almost  every  year  in 
Switzerland  or  the  Highlands,  the  course  of  a  full 
and  intimate  correspondence,  and  the  various  calls 
made  for  public  purposes  by  the  enthusiast  and  pioneer 
upon  the  pocket  and  social  power  of  the  rich  man  — 
these  things  and  influences,  together,  of  course,  with 
the  pressure  of  an  environing  w^orld,  ever  more  real, 
and,  on  the  whole,  ever  more  oppressive,  as  it  was 
better  understood,  had  confronted  Aldous  E-aeburn 
before  now  with  a  good  many  teasing  problems  of 
conduct  and  experience.  His  tastes,  his  sympathies, 
his  affinities  were  all  with  the  old  order ;  but  the  old 
faiths  —  economical,  social,  religious  —  were  ferment- 
ing within  him  in  different  stages  of  disintegration 


MARCELLA.  77 

and  reconstruction ;  and  his  reserved  habit  and  often 
solitary  life  tended  to  scrupulosity  and  over-refine- 
ment. His  future  career  as  a  landowner  and  politi- 
cian was  by  no  means  clear  to  him.  One  thing  only 
was  clear  to  him  —  that  to  dogmatise  about  any  sub- 
ject under  heaven,  at  the  present  day,  more  than 
the  immediate  practical  occasion  absolutely  demanded, 
was  the  act  of  an  idiot. 

So  that  Aldous  Eaeburn's  moments  of  reflection 
had  been  constantly  mixed  with  struggle  of  different 
kinds.  And  the  particular  point  of  view  where  he 
stood  on  this  September  evening  had  been  often  asso- 
ciated in  his  memory  with  flashes  of  self-realisation 
which  were,  on  the  whole,  more  of  a  torment  to  him 
than  a  joy.  If  he  had  not  been  Aldous  Raeburn,  or 
any  other  person,  tied  to  a  particular  individuality, 
with  a  particular  place  and  label  in  the  world,  the 
task  of  the  analytic  mind,  in  face  of  the  spectacle  of 
what  is,  would  have  been  a  more  possible  one !  —  so  it 
had  often  seemed  to  him. 

But  to-night  all  this  cumbering  consciousness,  all 
these  self-made  doubts  and  worries,  had  for  the  moment 
dropped  clean  away  !  A  transfigured  man  it  was  that 
lingered  at  the  old  spot  —  a  man  once  more  young, 
divining  with  enchantment  the  approach  of  passion, 
feeling  at  last  through  all  his  being  the  ecstasy  of  a 
self-surrender,  long  missed,  long  hungered  for. 

Six  weeks  was  it  since  he  had  first  seen  her  —  this 
tall,  straight,  Marcella  Boyce  ?  He  shut  his  eyes 
impatiently  against  the  disturbing  golds  and  purples 
of  the  sunset,  and  tried  to  see  her  again  as  she  had 
walked  beside  him  across  the  church  fields,  in  that 


78  MARC  ELL  A. 

thin  black  dress,  with  the  shadow  of  the  hat  across 
her  brow  and  eyes  —  the  small  Avhite  teeth  flashing  as 
she  talked  and  smiled,  the  hand  so  ready  with  its 
gesture,  so  restless,  so  alive  !  What  a  presence  —  how 
absorbing,  troubling,  preoccupying !  i^o  one  in  her 
company  could  forget  her — nay,  could  fail  to  observe 
her.  What  ease  and  daring,  and  yet  no  hardness  with 
it  —  rather  deep  on  deep  of  womanly  weakness,  soft- 
ness, passion,  beneath  it  all ! 

How  straight  she  had  flung  her  questions  at  him ! 
—  her  most  awkward  embarrassing  questions.  What 
other  woman  would  have  dared  such  candour  —  unless 
perhaps  as  a  stroke  of  fine  art — he  had  known  women 
indeed  who  could  have  done  it  so.  But  where  could 
be  the  art,  the  policy,  he  asked  himself  indignantly,  in 
the  sudden  outburst  of  a  young  girl  pleading  with  her 
companion's  sense  of  truth  and  good  feeling  in  behalf 
of  those  nearest  to  her  ? 

As  to  her  dilemma  itself,  in  his  excitement  he 
thought  of  it  with  nothing  but  the  purest  pleasure ! 
She  had  let  him  see  that  she  did  not  expect  him  to  be 
able  to  do  much  for  her,  though  she  was  readj^  to 
believe  him  her  friend.  Ah  well  —  he  drew  a  long 
breath.  For  once,  Eaeburn,  strange  compound  that 
he  was  of  the  man  of  rank  and  the  philosopher,  remem- 
bered his  own  social  power  and  position  with  an 
exultant  satisfaction.  Xo  doubt  Dick  Boyce  had  mis- 
behaved himself  badly  —  the  strength  of  Lord  Max- 
well's feeling  was  sufiicient  proof  thereof.  No  doubt 
the  "county,"  as  Eaeburn  himself  knew,  in  some 
detail,  were  disposed  to  leave  Mellor  Park  severely 
alone.     What  of  that  ?     AYas  it  for  nothing  that  the 


MARCELLA.  79 

Maxwells  had  been  for  generations  at  the  head  of 
the  "  count}^/'  i.e.  of  that  circle  of  neighbouring  fam- 
ilies connected  by  the  ties  of  ancestral  friendship,  or 
of  intermarriage,  on  whom  in  this  purely  agricultural 
and  rural  district  the  social  pleasure  and  comfort  of 
Miss  Boyce  and  her  mother  must  depend  ? 

He,  like  Marcella,  did  not  believe  that  Eichard 
Boyce's  olfences  were  of  the  quite  unpardonable 
order;  although,  owing  to  a  certain  absent  and  pre- 
occupied temper,  he  had  never  yet  taken  the  trouble 
to  enquire  into  them  in  detail.  As  to  any  real  resto- 
ration of  cordiality  between  the  owner  of  Mellor  and 
his  father's  old  friends  and  connections,  that  of  course 
was  not  to  be  looked  for ;  but  there  should  be  decent 
social  recognition,  and  —  in  the  case  of  Mrs.  Boyce  and 
her  daughter  —  there  should  be  homage  and  warm  wel- 
come, simply  because  she  wished  it,  and  it  was  absurd 
she  should  not  have  it !  Raeburn,  whose  mind  was  or- 
dinarily destitute  of  the  most  elementary  capacity  for 
social  intrigue,  began  to  plot  in  detail  how  it  should 
be  done.  He  relied  first  upon  winning  his  grand- 
father —  his  popular  distinguished  grandfather,  whose 
lightest  word  had  weight  in  Brookshire.  And  then, 
he  himself  had  two  or  three  women  friends  in  the 
county  —  not  more,  for  women  had  not  occupied 
much  place  in  his  thoughts  till  now.  But  they  were 
good  friends,  and,  from  the  social  point,  of  view,  im- 
portant. He  would  set  them  if)  work  at  once.  These 
things  should  be  chiefly  managed  by  women. 

But  no  patronage  !  She  would  never  bear  that,  the 
glancing  proud  creature.  She  must  guess,  indeed,  let 
him  tread  as  delicately  as  he  might,  that  he  and  others 


80  MAR  CELL  A. 

were  at  work  for  her.  But  oh !  she  should  be  softly 
handled;  as  far  as  he  could  achieve  it,  she  should,  in 
a  very  little  while,  live  and  breathe  compassed  with 
warm  airs  of  good-will  and  consideration. 

He  felt  himself  happy,  amazingh^  happy,  that  at 
the  very  beginning  of  his  love,  it  should  thus  be  open 
to  him,  in  these  trivial,  foolish  ways,  to  please  and 
befriend  her.  Her  social  dilemma  and  discomfort  one 
moment,  indeed,  made  him  sore  for  her;  the  next, 
they  were  a  kind  of  joy,  since  it  was  they  gave  him 
this  opportunity  to  put  out  a  strong  right  arm. 

Everything  about  her  at  this  moment  was  divine 
and  lovely  to  him;  all  the  qualities  of  her  rich  uneven 
youth  which  she  had  shown  in  their  short  intercourse 

—  her  rashness,  her  impulsiveness,  her  generosity. 
Let  her  but  trust  herself  to  him,  and  she  should  try 
her  social  experiments  as  she  pleased  —  she  should 
plan  Utopias,  and  he  would  be  her  hodman  to  build 
them.  The  man  perplexed  with  too  much  thinking 
remembered  the  girl's  innocent,  ignorant  readiness  to 
stamp  the  world's  stuff  anew  after  the  forms  of  her 
own  pitying  thought,  with  a  positive  thirst  of  sympa- 
thy. The  deep  poetry  and  ideality  at  the  root  of  him 
under  all  the  weight  of  intellectual  and  critical  debate 
leapt  towards  her.  He  thought  of  the  rapid  talk  she 
had  poured  out  upon  him,  after  their  compact  of 
friendship,  in  their  walk  back  to  the  church,  of  her 
enthusiasm  for  her  SoJialist  friends  and  their  ideals, 

—  with  a  momentary  madness  of  self-suppression  and 
tender  humility.  In  reality,  a  man  like  Aldous  Kae- 
burn  is  born  to  be  the  judge  and  touchstone  of  natures 
like   Marcella  Boyce.     But   the   illusion   of   passion 


MABCELLA.  81 

may  deal  as  disturbingly  with  moral  rank  as  with 
social. 

It  was  his  first  love.  Years  before,  in  the  vacation 
before  he  went  to  college,  his  boyish  mind  had  been 
crossed  by  a  fancy  for  a  pretty  cousin  a  little  older 
than  himself,  who  had  been  very  kind  indeed  to  Lord 
Maxwell's  heir.  But  then  came  Cambridge,  the  flow 
of  a  new  mental  life,  his  friendship  for  Edward  Hallin, 
and  the  beginnings  of  a  moral  storm  and  stress.  When 
he  and  the  cousin  next  met,  he  was  quite  cold  to  her. 
She  seemed  to  him  a  pretty  piece  of  millinery,  en- 
dowed with  a  trick  of  parrot  phrases.  She,  on  her 
part,  thought  him  detestable ;  she  married  shortly 
afterwards,  and  often  spoke  to  her  husband  in  pri- 
vate of  her  '^  escape  "  from  that  queer  fellow  Aldous 
Eaeburn. 

Since  then  he  had  known  plenty  of  pretty  and 
charming  women,  both  in  London  and  in  the  country, 
and  had  made  friends  with  some  of  them  in  his  quiet 
serious  way.  But  none  of  them  had  roused  in  him 
even  a  passing  thrill  of  passion.  He  had  despised 
himself  for  it ;  had  told  himself  again  and  again  that 
he  was  but  half  a  man  — 

Ah!  he  had  done  himself  injustice  —  he  had  done 
himself  injustice  ! 

Hie  heart  was  light  as  air.  When  at  last  the  sound 
of  a  clock  striking  in  the  plain  roused  him  with  a 
start,  and  he  sprang  up  from  the  heap  of  stones  where 
he  had  been  sitting  in  the  dusk,  he  bent  down  a  mo- 
ment to  give  a  gay  caress  to  his  dog,  and  then  trudged 
off  briskly  home,  whistling  under  the  emerging  stars. 

VOL.  I.  —  6 


CHAPTER   VI. 

By  the  time,  however,  that  Alclous  Raeburn  came 
within  sight  of  the  windows  of  Maxwell  Court  his  first 
exaltation  had  sobered  down.  The  lover  had  fallen, 
for  the  time,  into  the  background,  and  the  capable, 
serious  man  of  thirty,  with  a  considerable  experience 
of  the  world  behind  him,  was  perfectly  conscious  that 
there  were  many  difficulties  in  his  path.  He  could  not 
induce  his  grandfather  to  move  in  the  matter  of  Eichard 
Boyce  without  a  statement  of  his  own  feelings  and 
aims.  Nor  would  he  have  avoided  frankness  if  he 
could.  On  every  ground  it  was  his  grandfather's  due. 
The  Eaeburns  were  reserved  toAvards  the  rest  of  the 
world,  but  amongst  themselves  there  had  always  been 
a  fine  tradition  of  mutual  trust ;  and  Lord  Maxwell 
amply  deserved  that  at  this  particular  moment  his 
grandson  should  maintain  it. 

But  Eaeburn  could  not  and  did  not  flatter  himself 
that  his  grandfather  would,  to  begin  with,  receive  his 
news  even  with  toleration.  The  grim  satisfaction  with 
which  that  note  about  the  shooting  had  been  de- 
spatched, was  very  clear  in  the  grandson's  memory. 
At  the  same  time  it  said  much  for  the  history  of  those 
long  years  during  which  the  old  man  and  his  heir  had 
been  left  to  console  each  other  for  the  terrible  bereave- 
ments which  had  thrown  them  together,  that  Aldous 

82 


MARCELLA.  83 

Eaebiirn  never  for  an  instant  feared  the  kind  of  vio- 
lent outburst  and  opposition  that  other  men  in  similar 
circumstances  might  have  looked  forward  to.  The 
just  living  of  a  life-time  makes  a  man  incapable  of  any 
mere  selfish  handling  of  another's  interests  —  a  fact 
on  which  the  bystander  may  reckon. 

It  was  quite  dark  by  the  time  he  entered  the  large 
open-roofed  hall  of  the  Court. 

"  Is  his  lordship  in  ?  "  he  asked  of  a  passing  foot- 
man. 

"  Yes,  sir  —  in  the  library.  He  has  been  asking  for 
you,  sir." 

Aldous  turned  to  the  right  along  the  fine  corridor 
lighted  with  Tudor  windows  to  an  inner  quadrangle, 
and  filled  with  Graeco-Eoman  statuary  and  sarcophagi, 
which  made  one  of  the  principal  features  of  the  Court. 
The  great  house  was  warm  and  scented,  and  the  various 
open  doors  which  he  passed  on  his  way  to  the  library 
disclosed  large  fire-lit  rooms,  with  panelling,  tapestry, 
pictures,  books  everywhere.  The  colour  of  the  whole 
w^as  dim  and  rich ;  antiquity,  refinement  reigned,  to- 
gether with  an  exquisite  quiet  and  order.  No  one  was 
to  be  seen,  and  not  a  voice  was  to  be  heard;  but  there 
was  no  impression  of  solitude.  These  warm,  darkly- 
glowing  rooms  seemed  to  be  waiting  for  the  return  of 
guests  just  gone  out  of  them;  not  one  of  them  but 
had  an  air  of  cheerful  company.  For  once,  as  he  w^alked 
through  it,  Aldous  Eaeburn  spared  the  old  house  an 
affectionate  possessive  thought.  Its  size  and  wealth, 
with  all  that  both  implied,  had  often  weighed  upon  him. 
To-night  his  breath  quickened  as  he  passed  the  range 
of  family  portraits  leading  to  the  library  door.    There 


84  MABCELLA. 

was  a  vacant  space  here  and  there  —  "room  for  your 
missus,  too,  my  boy,  when  you  get  her  !  "  as  his  grand- 
father had  once  put  it. 

"  Why,  you've  had  a  long  day,  Aldous,  all  by  your- 
self," said  Lord  Maxwell,  turning  sharply  round  at 
the  sound  of  the  opening  door.  ^'What's  kept  you  so 
late?" 

His  spectacles  fell  forward  as  he  spoke,  and  the  old 
man  shut  them  in  his  hand,  peering  at  his  grandson 
through  the  shadows  of  the  room.  He  was  sitting  by 
a  huge  fire,  an  "Edinburgh  E-eview  "  open  on  his  knee. 
Lamp  and  fire-light  showed  a  finely-carried  head,  with 
a  high  wave  of  snowy  hair  thrown  back,  a  long  face 
delicately  sharp  in  the  lines,  and  an  attitude  instinct 
with  the  alertness  of  an  unimpaired  bodily  vigour. 

"The  birds  were  scarce,  and  we  followed  them  a 
good  way,"  said  Aldous,  as  he  came  up  to  the  fire. 
"Eickman  kept  me  on  the  farm,  too,  a  good  while, 
with  interminable  screeds  about  the  things  he  wants 
done  for  him." 

"  Oh,  there  is  no  end  to  Rickman,"  said  Lord  Max- 
well, good-humouredly.  "He  pays  his  rent  for  the 
amusement  of  getting  it  back  again.  Landowning 
will  soon  be  the  most  disinterested  form  of  philan- 
thropy known  to  mankind.  But  I  have  some  news 
for  you  !  Here  is  a  letter  from  Barton  by  the  second 
post" — he  named  an  old  friend  of  his  own,  and  a 
Cabinet  Minister  of  the  day.  "  Look  at  it.  You  will 
see  he  says  they  can't  possibly  carry  on  beyond  Janu- 
ary. Half  their  men  are  becoming  unmanageable,  and 
S 's  bill,  to  which  they  are  committed,  will  cer- 
tainly dish  them.     Parliament  will  meet  in  January, 


MABCELLA.  85 

and  he  thinks  an  amendment  to  the  Address  will 
finish  it.  All  this  confidential,  of  course ;  but  he  saw- 
no  harm  in  letting  me  know.  So  now,  my  boy,  you 
will  have  your  work  cut  out  for  you  this  winter ! 
Two  or  three  evenings  a  week  —  you'll  not  get  off 
with  less.  ^STobody's  plum  drops  into  his  mouth  now- 
adays. Barton  tells  me,  too,  that  he  hears  young 
Wharton  will  certainly  stand  for  the  Durnford  divi- 
sion, and  will  be  down  upon  us  directly.  He  will 
make  himself  as  disagreeable  to  us  and  the  Levens  as 
he  can  —  that  we  may  be  sure  of.  We  may  be  thank- 
ful for  one  small  mercy,  that  his  mother  has  departed 
this  life !  otherwise  you  and  I  would  have  known 
furens  quid  feniina  i^sset !  " 

The  old  man  looked  up  at  his  grandson  with  a 
humorous  eye.  Aldous  was  standing  absently  before 
the  fire,  and  did  not  reply  immediately. 

"  Come,  come,  Aldous ! "  said  Lord  Maxwell  with 
a  touch  of  impatience,  "  don't  overdo  the  philosopher. 
Though  I  am  getting  old,  the  next  Government  can't 
deny  me  a  finger  in  the  pie.  You  and  I  between  us 
will  be  able  to  pull  through  two  or  three  of  the  things 
we  care  about  in  the  next  House,  with  ordinary  luck. 
It  is  my  firm  belief  that  the  next  election  will  give 
our  side  the  best  chance  we  have  had  for  half  a  gen- 
eration. Throw  up  your  cap,  sir  !  The  world  may  be 
made  of  green  cheese,  but  we  have  got  to  live  in 
it!" 

Aldous  smiled  suddenly  —  uncontrollably  —  with  a 
look  which  left  his  grandfather  staring.  He  had  been 
appealing  to  the  man  of  maturity  standing  on  the 
threshold  of  a  possibly  considerable  career,  and,  as  he 


86  MARCELLA. 

did  so,  it  was  as  thougii  lie  saw  the  boy  of  eighteen 
reappear ! 

"  Je  ne  demande  pas  mieux!''  said  Aldous  with  a 
quick  lift  of  the  voice  above  its  ordinary  key.  "  The 
fact  is,  grandfather,  I  have  come  home  with  something 
in  my  mind  very  different  from  politics  —  and  you 
must  give  me  time  to  change  the  focus.  I  did  not 
come  home  as  straight  as  I  might  —  for  I  wanted  to  be 
sure  of  myself  before  I  spoke  to  you.  During  the  last 
few  weeks  —  " 

"  Go  on !  '^  cried  Lord  Maxwell. 

But  Aldous  did  not  find  it  easy  to  go  on.  It  sud- 
denly struck  him  that  it  was  after  all  absurd  that  he 
should  be  confiding  in  any  one  at  such  a  stage,  and  his 
tongue  stumbled. 

But  he  had  gone  too  far  for  retreat.  Lord  Maxwell 
sprang  up  and  seized  him  by  the  arms. 

"  You  are  in  love,  sir !     Out  with  it ! " 

"  I  have  seen  the  only  woman  in  the  world  I  have 
ever  wished  to  marry,"  said  Aldous,  flushing,  but  with 
deliberation.  "  Whether  she  will  ever  have  me,  I  have 
no  idea.  But  I  can  conceive  no  greater  happiness  than 
to  win  her.  And  as  I  want  you,  grandfather,  to  do 
something  for  her  and  for  me,  it  seemed  to  me  I  had 
no  right  to  keep  my  feelings  to  myself.  Besides,  I 
am  not  accustomed  to  —  to  —  "  His  voice  wavered  a 
little.     "  You  have  treated  me  as  more  than  a  son ! " 

Lord  Maxwell  pressed  his  arm  affectionately. 

"  My  dear  boy  !  But  don't  keep  me  on  tenterhooks 
like  this  —  tell  me  the  name  !  —  the  name  !  " 

And  two  or  three  long  meditated  possibilities  flashed 
through  the  old  man's  mind. 

Aldous  replied  with  a  certain  slow  stiffness  — 


MARCELLA.  87 

"Marcella  Boyce  !  —  Eicliard  Boyce's  daughter.  I 
saw  her  first  six  weeks  ago." 

"God  bless  my  soul!"  exclaimed  Lord  Maxwell, 
falling  back  a  step  or  two,  and  staring  at  his  companion. 
Aldoiis  watched  him  with  anxiety. 

"  You  know  that  fellow's  history,  Aldous  ?  " 

"  Eichard  Boyce  ?  ISTot  in  detail.  If  you  will  tell 
me  now  all  you  know,  it  will  be  a  help.  Of  course,  I 
see  that  you  and  the  neighbourhood  mean  to  cut  him, 
—  and  —  for  the  sake  of  —  of  Miss  Boyce  and  her 
mother,  I  should  be  glad  to  find  a  way  out." 

"  Good  heavens  ! "  said  Lord  Maxwell,  beginning  to 
pace  the  room,  hands  pressed  behind  him,  head  bent. 
"  Good  heavens  !  what  a  business  !  what  an  extraordi- 
nary business ! " 

He  stopped  short  in  front  of  Aldous.  "  Where  have 
you  been  meeting  her  —  this  young  lady  ?  " 

"At  the  Hardens'  —  sometimes  in  Mellor  village. 
She  goes  about  among  the  cottages  a  great  deal." 

"  You  have  not  proposed  to  her  ?  " 

"  I  was  not  certain  of  myself  till  to-day.  Besides 
it  would  have  been  presumption  so  far.  She  has 
shown  me  nothing  but  the  merest  friendliness." 

"  What,  you  can  suppose  she  would  refuse  you ! " 
cried  Lord  Maxwell,  and  could  not  for  the  life  of  him 
keep  the  sarcastic  intonation  out  of  his  voice. 

Aldous's  look  showed  distress.  "You  have  not  seen 
her,  grandfather,"  he  said  quietly. 

Lord  Maxwell  began  to  pace  again,  trying  to  restrain 
the  painful  emotion  that  filled  him.  Of  course,  Aldous 
had  been  entrapped ;  the  girl  had  played  upon  his  pity, 
his  chivalry  —  for  obvious  reasons. 


88  MARCELLA. 

Aldous  tried  to  soothe  him,  to  explain,  but  Lord 
Maxwell  hardly  listened.  At  last  he  threw  himself 
into  his  chair  again  with  a  long  breath. 

"Give  me  time,  Aldous  —  give  me  time.  The 
thought  of  marrying  my  heir  to  that  man's  daughter 
knocks  me  over  a  little." 

There  was  silence  again.  Then  Lord  Maxwell  looked 
at  his  watch  with  old-fashioned  precision. 

"There  is  half  an  hour  before  dinner.  Sit  down, 
and  let  us  talk  this  thing  out." 

The  conversation  thus  started,  however,  was  only 
begun  by  dinner-time ;  was  resumed  after  Miss  Kae- 
burn  —  the  small,  shrewd,  bright-eyed  person  who  gov- 
erned Lord  Maxwell's  household  —  had  withdrawn; 
and  was  continued  in  the  library  some  time  beyond 
his  lordship's  usual  retiring  hour.  It  was  for  the  most 
part  a  monologue  on  the  part  of  the  grandfather, 
broken  by  occasional  words  from  his  companion ;  and 
for  some  time  Marcella  Boyce  herself  —  the  woman 
whom  Aldous  desired  to  marry  —  was  hardly  men- 
tioned in  it.  Oppressed  and  tormented  by  a  surprise 
which  struck,  or  seemed  to  strike,  at  some  of  his  most 
cherished  ideals  and  just  resentments.  Lord  Maxwell 
was  bent  upon  letting  his  grandson  know,  in  all  their 
fulness,  the  reasons  why  no  daughter  of  Richard  Boyce 
could  ever  be,  in  the  true  sense,  fit  wife  for  a  Eae- 
burn. 

Aldous  was,  of  course,  perfectly  familiar  with  the 
creed  implied  in  it  all.  A  Maxwell  should  give  him- 
self no  airs  whatever,  should  indeed  feel  no  pride 
whatever,  towards  "men  of  goodwill,"  whether  peas- 


MABCELLA.  89 

ant,  professional,  or  noble.  Such  airs  or  such  feeling 
would  be  both  vulgar  and  unchristian.  But  when  it 
came  to  marriage,  then  it  behoved  him  to  see  that 
"  the  family  "  —  that  carefully  grafted  and  selected 
stock  to  which  he  owed  so  much  —  should  suffer  no 
loss  or  deterioration  through  him.  Marriage  with  the 
fit  woman  meant  for  a  Eaeburn  the  preservation  of  a 
pure  blood,  of  a  dignified  and  honourable  family  habit, 
and  moreover  the  securing  to  his  children  such  an 
atmosphere  of  self-respect  within,  and  of  consideration 
from  without,  as  he  had  himself  grown  up  in.  And 
a  woman  could  not  be  fit,  in  this  sense,  who  came 
either  of  an  insignificant  stock,  untrained  to  large 
uses  and  opportunities,  or  of  a  stock  which  .had 
degenerated,  and  lost  its  right  of  equal  mating  with 
the  vigorous  owners  of  unblemished  names.  Money 
was  of  course  important  and  not  to  be  despised,  but 
the  present  Lord  Maxwell,  at  any  rate,  large-minded 
and  conscious  of  wealth  he  could  never  spend,  laid 
comparatively  little  stress  upon  it;  whereas,  in  his 
old  age,  the  other  instinct  had  but  grown  the  stronger 
with  him,  as  the  world  waxed  more  democratic,  and 
the  influence  of  the  great  families  waned. 

Nor  could  Aldous  pretend  to  be  insensible  to  such 
feelings  and  beliefs.  Supposing  the  daughter  could 
be  won,  there  was  no  doubt  whatever  that  Kichard 
Boyce  would  be  a  cross  and  burden  to  a  Eaeburn  son- 
in-law.  But  then  !  After  all !  Love  for  once  made 
philosophy  easy  —  made  class  tradition  sit  light.  Im- 
patience grew ;  a  readiness  to  believe  Richard  Boyce 
as  black  as  Erebus  and  be  done  with  it,  —  so  that 
one  might  get  to  the  point  —  the  real  point. 


90  MARCELLA. 

As  to  the  story,  it  came  to  this.  In  his  youth, 
Eichard  Boyce  had  been  the  younger  and  favourite 
son  of  his  father.  He  possessed  some  ability,  some 
good  looks,  some  manners,  all  of  which  were  wanting 
in  his  loutish  elder  brother.  Sacrifices  were  accord- 
ingly made  for  him.  He  was  sent  to  the  bar.  When 
he  stood  for  Parliament  his  election  expenses  were 
jubilantly  paid,  and  his  father  afterwards  maintained 
him  with  as  generous  a  hand  as  the  estate  could  pos- 
sibly bear,  often  in  the  teeth  of  the  grudging  resent- 
ment of  Robert  his  fi.rstborn.  Eichard  showed  signs 
of  making  a  rapid  success,  at  any  rate  on  the  political 
platform.  He  spoke  with  facility,  and  grappled  with 
the  drudgery  of  committees  during  his  first  two  years 
at  Westminster  in  a  way  to  win  him  the  favourable 
attention  of  the  Tory  whips.  He  had  a  gift  for 
modern  languages,  and  spoke  chiefly  on  foreign 
affairs,  so  that  when  an  important  Eastern  Commis- 
sion had  to  be  appointed,  in  connection  with  some 
troubles  in  the  Balkan  States,  his  merits  and  his 
fathers  exertions  with  certain  old  family  friends 
sufficed  to  place  him  upon  it. 

The  Commission  was  headed  by  a  remarkable  man, 
and  was  able  to  do  valuable  w^ork  at  a  moment  of 
great  public  interest,  under  the  eyes  of  Europe.  Its 
members  came  back  covered  with  distinction,  and 
were  much  feted  through  the  London  season.  Old 
Mr.  Boyce  came  up  from  Mellor  to  see  Dick's  success 
for  himself,  and  his  rubicund  country  gentleman's  face 
and  Avhite  head  might  have  been  observed  at  many  a 
London  party  beside  the  small  Italianate  physique  of 
his  son. 


MAR CELL A.  91 

And  love,  as  lie  is  wont,  came  in  the  wake  of  fort- 
une. A  certain  fresh  west-country  girl,  Miss  Evelyn 
Merritt,  who  had  shown  her  stately  beauty  at  one  of 
the  earliest  drawing-rooms  of  the  season,  fell  across 
Mr.  Kichard  Boyce  at  this  moment  when  he  was  most 
at  ease  with  the  world,  and  the  world  was  giving  him 
every  opportunity.  She  was  very  young,  as  unspoilt 
as  the  daffodils  of  her  Somersetshire  valleys,  and  her 
character  —  a  character  of  much  complexity  and  stoical 
strength  —  was  little  more  known  to  herself  than  it 
was  to  others.  She  saw  Dick  Boj^ce  through  a  mist  of 
romance ;  forgot  herself  absolutely  in  idealising  him, 
and  could  have  thanked  him  on  her  knees  when  he 
asked  her  to  marry  him. 

Five  years  of  Parliament  and  marriage  followed, 
and  then  —  a  crash.  It  was  a  common  and  sordid  story, 
made  tragic  by  the  quality  of  the  wife,  and  the  dis- 
appointment of  the  father,  if  not  by  the  ruined  possi- 
bilities of  Dick  Boyce  himself.  First,  the  desire  to 
maintain  a  "  position,"  to  make  play  in  society  with  a 
pretty  wife,  and,  in  the  City,  with  a  marketable  repu- 
tation ;  then  company-promoting  of  a  more  and  more 
doubtful  kind ;  and,  finally,  a  swindle  more  energetic 
and  less  skilful  than  the  rest,  which  bouib-like  went  to 
pieces  in  the  face  of  the  public,  filling  the  air  with 
noise,  lamentations,  and  unsavoury  odours.  Xor  was 
this  all.  A  man  has  many  warnings  of  ruin,  and  when 
things  were  going  badly  in  the  stock  market,  Richard 
Boyce,  who  on  his  return  from  the  East  had  been 
elected  by  acclamation  a  member  of  several  fashionable 
clubs,  tried  to  retrieve  himself  at  the  gaming-table. 
Lastly,  when  money  matters  at  home  and  abroad,  when 


92  MABCELLA. 

the  anxieties  of  his  wife  and  the  altered  manners  of  his 
acquaintance  in  and  out  of  the  House  of  Commons 
grew  more  than  usually  disagreeable,  a  certain  little 
chorus  girl  came  upon  the  scene  and  served  to  make 
both  money  and  repentance  scarcer  even  than  they 
were  before.  No  story  could  be  more  commonplace 
or  more  detestable. 

"  Ah,  how  well  I  remember  that  poor  old  fellow  — 
old  John  Boyce,"  said  Lord  Maxwell,  slowly,  shaking 
his  stately  white  head  over  it,  as  he  leant  talking  and 
musing  against  the  mantelpiece.  "  I  saw  him  the  day 
he  came  back  from  the  attempt  to  hush  up  the  company 
business.  I  met  him  in  the  road,  and  could  not  help 
pulling  up  to  speak  to  him.  I  was  so  sorry  for  him. 
We  had  been  friends  for  many  years,  he  and  I.  '  Oh, 
good  God  ! '  he  said,  when  he  saw  me.  '  Don't  stop 
me  —  don't  speak  to  me!'  And  he  lashed  his  horse 
up  —  as  white  as  a  sheet  —  fat,  fresh-coloured  man  that 
he  was  in  general  —  and  was  off.  I  never  saw  him 
again  till  after  his  death.  First  came  the  trial,  and 
Dick  Boyce  got  three  months'  imprisonment,  on  a  minor 
count,  while  several  others  of  the  precious  lot  he  was 
mixed  up  with  came  in  for  penal  servitude.  There 
was  some  technical  flaw  in  the  evidence  with  regard  to 
him,  and  the  clever  lawyers  they  put  on  made  the  most 
of  it;  but  we  all  thought,  and  society  thought,  that 
Dick  was  morally  as  bad  as  any  of  them.  Then  the 
papers  got  hold  of  the  gambling  debts  and  the  woman. 
She  made  a  disturbance  at  his  club,  I  believe,  during 
the  trial,  while  he  was  out  on  bail  —  anyway  it  all 
came  out.  Two  or  three  other  people  were  implicated 
in  the  gambling  business  —  men  of  good  family.     Alto- 


MARCELLA.  93 

gether  it  was  one  of  the  biggest  scandals  I  remember 
in  my  time." 

The  old  man  paused,  the  long  frowning  face  sternly 
set.  Aldous  gazed  at  him  in  silence.  It  was  certainly 
pretty  bad  —  worse  than  he  had  thought. 

"  And  the  wife  and  child  ?  "  he  said  presently. 

"  Oh,  poor  things  I  "  —  said  Lord  Maxwell,  forget- 
ting everything  for  the  moment  but  his  story  — 
"when  Boyce's  imprisonment  was  up  they  disap- 
peared with  him.  His  constituents  held  indignation 
meetings,  of  course.  He  gave  up  his  seat,  and  his 
father  allowed  him  a  small  fixed  income  —  she  had 
besides  some  little  money  of  her  own  —  which  was 
secured  him  afterwards,  I  believe,  on  the  estate  dur- 
ing his  brother's  lifetime.  Some  of  her  people  would 
have  gladly  persuaded  her  to  leave  him,  for  his  be- 
haviour towards  her  had  been  particularly  odious,  — 
and  they  were  afraid,  too,  I  think,  that  he  might  come 
to  worse  grief  yet  and  make  her  life  unbearable.  But 
she  wouldn't.  And  she  would  have  no  sympathy  and 
no  talk.  I  never  saw  her  after  the  first  year  of  their 
marriage,  when  she  was  a  most  radiant  and  beautiful 
creature.  But,  by  all  accounts  of  her  behaviour  at 
the  time,  she  must  be  a  remarkable  woman.  One  of 
her  family  told  me  that  she  broke  with  all  of  them. 
She  would  know  nobody  who  would  not  know  him. 
Xor  would  she  take  money,  though  they  were  wretch- 
edly poor ;  and  Dick  Boyce  was  not  squeamish.  She 
went  off  to  little  lodgings  in  the  country  or  abroad 
with  him  without  a  word.  At  the  same  time,  it  was 
plain  that  her  life  was  withered.  She  could  make  one 
great  effort ;  but,  according  to  my  informant,  she  had 


94  M ABC  ELL  A. 

no  energy  left  for  anything  else  —  not  even  to  take 
interest  in  her  little  girl  —  " 

Aldous  made  a  movement. 

"Suppose  we  talk  about  her?"  he  said  rather 
shortly. 

Lord  Maxwell  started  and  recollected  himself. 
After  a  pause  he  said,  looking  down  under  his  spec- 
tacles at  his  grandson^  with  an  expression  in  which 
discomfort  strove  with  humour  — 

"  I  see.  You  think  we  are  beating  about  the  bush. 
Perhaps  we  are.  It  is  the  difference  between  being 
old  and  being  young,  Aldous,  my  boy.  Well  —  noAv 
then  —  for  Miss  Boyce.  How  much  have  you  seen  of 
her? — how  deep  has  it  gone?  You  can't  wonder 
that  I  am  knocked  over.  To  bring  that  man  amongst 
us  !  Why,  the  hound ! "  cried  the  old  man,  suddenly, 
'^we  could  not  even  get  him  to  come  and  see  his 
father  when  he  was  dying.  John  had  lost  his  mem- 
ory mostly  —  had  forgotten,  anyway,  to  be  angry 
—  and  just  craved  for  Dick,  for  the  only  creature 
he  had  ever  loved.  With  great  difficulty  I  traced 
the  man,  and  tried  my  utmost.  ISTo  good !  He  came 
when  his  father  no  longer  knew  him,  an  hour  before 
the  end.  His  nerves,  I  understood,  were  delicate  — 
not  so  delicate,  however,  as  to  prevent  his  being 
present  at  the  reading  of  the  will !  I  have  never 
forgiven  him  that  cruelty  to  the  old  man,  and  never 
will ! " 

And  Lord  Maxwell  began  to  pace  the  library  again, 
by  way  of  working  off  memory  and  indignation. 

Aldous  watched  him  rather  gloomily.  They  had 
now  been  discussing  Boyce's    criminalities  in   great 


MAECELLA.  95 

detail  for  a  considerable  time,  and  nothing  else  seemed 
to  have  any  power  to  touch  —  or,  at  any  rate,  to  hold 
—  Lord  Maxwell's  attentrs^n.  A  certain  deep  pride  in 
Aldous  —  the  pride  of  intimate  affection  —  felt  itself 
wounded. 
^  "I  see  that  you  have  grave  cause  to  think  badly  of 
her  father,"  he  said  at  last,  rising  as  he  spoke.  "  I 
'-  must  think  how  it  concerns  me.  And  to-morrow  you 
must  let  me  tell  you  something  about  her.  After  all, 
she  has  done  none  of  these  things.  But  I  ought  not 
to  keep  you  up  like  this.  You  will  remember  Clarke 
was  very  emphatic  about  your  not  exhausting  yourself 
at  night,  last  time  he  was  here." 

Lord  Maxwell  turned  and  stared. 

"Why  —  why,  what  is  the  matter  with  you,  Aldous  ? 
Offended?  Well— well—  There—  I  cm  an  old  fool ! " 

And,  walking  up  to  his  grandson,  he  laid  an  affec- 
tionate and  rather  shaking  hand  on  the  younger's 
shoulder. 

"  You  have  a  great  charge  upon  you,  Aldous  —  a 
charge  for  the  future.  It  has  upset  me  —  I  shall  be 
calmer  to-morrow.  But  as  to  any  quarrel  between  us  ! 
Are  you  a  youth,  or  am  I  a  three-tailed  bashaw  ?  As 
to  money,  you  know,  I  care  nothing.  But  it  goes 
against  me,  my  boy,  it  goes  against  me,  that  your  wife 
should  bring  such  a  story  as  that  with  her  into  this 
house !" 

"  I  understand,"  said  Aldous,  wincing.  "  But  you 
must  see  her,  grandfather.  Only,  let  me  say  it  again 
— don't  for  one  moment  take  it  for  granted  that 
she  will  marry  me.  I  never  saw  any  one  so  free,  so 
unspoilt,  so  unconventional." 


96  MABCELLA, 

His  eyes  glowed  with,  the  pleasure  of  remembering 
her  looks,  her  tones. 

Lord  Maxwell  withdrew  his  hand  and  shook  his 
head  slowly. 

"  You  have  a  great  deal  to  offer.  No  woman,  unless 
she  were  either  foolish  or  totally  unexperienced,  could 
overlook  that.     Is  she  about  twenty  ?  " 

"About  twenty." 

Lord  Maxwell  waited  a  moment,  then,  bending  over 
the  fire,  shrugged  his  shoulders  in  mock  despair. 

"  It  is  evident  you  are  out  of  love  with  me,  Aldous. 
Why,  I  don't  know  yet  whether  she  is  dark  or  fair  ! '' 

The  conversation  jarred  on  both  sides.  Aldous 
made  an  effort. 

"She  is  very  dark,"  he  said;  ''like  her  mother  in 
many  ways,  only  quite  different  in  colour.  To  me  she 
seems  the  most  beautiful  —  the  only  beautiful  woman 
I  have  ever  seen.  I  should  think  she  was  very  clever 
in  some  ways  —  and  very  unformed  —  childish  almost 
—  in  others.  The  Hardens  say  she  has  done  every- 
thing she  could  —  of  course  it  isn't  much  —  for  that 
miserable  village  in  the  time  she  has  been  there. 
Oh  !  by  the  way,  she  is  a  Socialist.  She  thinks  that 
all  we  landowners  should  be  done  away  with." 

Aldous  looked  round  at  his  grandfather,  so  soon 
probably  to  be  one  of  the  lights  of  a  Tory  Cabinet,  and 
laughed.     So,  to  his  relief,  did  Lord  Maxwell. 

"  Well,  don't  let  her  fall  into  young  Wharton's 
clutches,  Aldous,  or  he  will  be  setting  her  to  canvas. 
So,  she  is  beautiful  and  she  is  clever  —  and  good,  my 
boy  ?  If  she  comes  here,  she  will  have  to  fill  your 
mother's  and  your  grandmother's  place." 


MARCELLA.  97 

Aldous  tried  to  reply  once  or  twice,  but  failed. 

"  If  I  did  not  feel  that  she  were  everything  in  her- 
self to  be  loved  and  respected  " —  he  said  at  last  with 
some  formality  —  "I  should  not  long,  as  I  do,  to  bring 
you  and  her  together." 

Silence  fell  again.  But  instinctively  Aldous  felt 
that  his  grandfather's  mood  had  grown  gentler  —  his 
own  task  easier.     He  seized  on  the  moment  at  once. 

"In  the  whole  business/"'  he  said,  half  smiling, 
"  there  is  only  one  thing  clear,  grandfather,  and  that 
is,  that,  if  you  will,  you  can  do  me  a  great  service  with 
Miss  Boyce." 

Lord  Maxwell  turned  quickly  and  was  all  sharp 
attention,  the  keen  commanding  eyes  under  their  fine 
brows  absorbing,  as  it  were,  expression  and  life  from 
the  rest  of  the  blanched  and  wrinkled  face. 

"You  could,  if  you  would,  make  matters  easy  for 
her  and  her  mother  in  the  county,"  said  Aldous, 
anxious  to  carry  it  off  lightly.  "  You  could,  if  you 
would,  without  committing  yourself  to  any  personal 
contact  with  Boyce  himself,  make  it  possible  for  me 
to  bring  her  here,  so  that  you  and  my  aunt  might  see 
her  and  judge." 

The  old  man's  expression  darkened. 

"  What,  take  back  that  note,  Aldous  !  I  never  wrote 
anything  with  greater  satisfaction  in  my  life !  " 

"  Well,  —  more  or  less,"  said  Aldous,  quietly.  "  A 
very  little  would  do  it.  A  man  in  Richard  Boyce's 
position  will  naturally  not  claim  very  much  —  will 
take  what  he  can  get." 

"  And  you  mean  besides,"  said  his  grandfather,  inter- 
rupting him,  "  that  I  must  send  your  aunt  to  call  ?  " 
voj..  J.  —  7 


98  MAR CELL A. 

"  It  will  hardly  be  possible  to  ask  Miss  Boyce  here 
unless  she  does  ! "    said  Aldous. 

"And  you  reckon  that  I  am  not  likely  to  go  to 
Mellor,  even  to  see  her  ?  And  you  want  me  to  say  a 
word  to  other  people  —  to  the  Winterbournes  and  the 
Levens,  for  instance  ?  " 

"  Precisely,"  said  Aldous. 

Lord  Maxwell  meditated ;  then  rose. 

"  Let  me  now  appease  the  memory  of  Clarke  by 
going  to  bed ! "  (Clarke  was  his  lordship's  medical 
attendant  and  autocrat.)  "I  must  sleep  upon  this, 
Aldous." 

"  I  only  hope  I  shall  not  have  tired  you  out." 

Aldous  moved  to  extinguish  a  lamp  standing  on  a 
table  near. 

Suddenly  his  grandfather  called  him. 

"  Aldous  ! " 

"Yes." 

But,  as  no  words  followed,  Aldous  turned.  He  saw 
his  grandfather  standing  erect  before  the  fire,  and  was 
startled  by  the  emotion  he  instantly  perceived  in  eye 
and  mouth. 

"  You  understand,  Aldous,  that  for  twenty  years  — 
it  is  twenty  years  last  month  since  your  father  died  — 
you  have  been  the  blessing  of  my  life  ?  Oh  !  don't  say 
anything,  my  boy ;  I  don't  want  any  more  agitation. 
I  have  spoken  strongly  ;  it  was  hardly  possible  but 
that  on  such  a  matter  I  should  feel  strongly.  But 
don't  go  away  misunderstanding  me  —  don't  imagine 
for  one  instant  that  there  is  anything  in  the  world 
that  really  matters  to  me  in  comparison  with  your 
happiness  and  your  future!" 


MAECELLA.  99 

The  venerable  old  man  wrung  the  hand  he  held, 
walked  quickly  to  the  door,  and  shut  it  behind  him. 

An  hour  later,  Aldous  was  writing  in  his  own 
sitting-room,  a  room  on  the  first  floor,  at  the  western 
corner  of  the  house,  and  commanding  by  daylight  the 
falling  slopes  of  wood  below  the  Court,  and  all  the 
wide  expanses  of  the  plain.  To-night,  too,  the  blinds 
were  up,  and  the  great  view  drawn  in  black  and  pearl, 
streaked  with  white  mists  in  the  ground  hollows  and 
overarched  by  a  wide  sky  holding  a  haloed  moon,  lay 
spread  before  the  windows.  On  a  clear  night  Aldous 
felt  himself  stifled  by  blinds  and  curtains,  and  would 
often  sit  late,  reading  and  writing,  with  a  lamp  so 
screened  that  it  threw  light  upon  his  book  or  paper, 
while  not  interfering  with  the  full  range  of  his  eye 
over  the  night-world  without.  He  secretly  believed 
that  human  beings  see  far  too  little  of  the  night,  and 
so  lose  a  host  of  august  or  beautiful  impressions, 
which  might  be  honestly  theirs  if  they  pleased,  with- 
out borrowing  or  stealing  from  anybody,  poet  or 
painter. 

The  room  was  lined  with  books,  partly  temporary 
visitors  from  the  great  library  downstairs,  partly  his 
old  college  books  and  prizes,  and  partly  representing 
small  collections  for  special  studies.  Here  were  a 
large  number  of  volumes,  blue  books,  and  pamphlets, 
bearing  on  the  condition  of  agriculture  and  the  rural 
poor  in  England  and  abroad ;  there  were  some  shelves 
devoted  to  general  economics,  and  on  a  little  table  by 
the  tire  lay  the  recent  numbers  of  various  economic 
journals,  English  and  foreign.     Between  the  windows 


100  MARCELLA. 

stood  a  small  philosophical  bookcase,  the  volumes  of 
it  full  of  small  reference  slips,  and  marked  from  end 
to  end ;  and  on  the  other  side  of  the  room  was  a 
revolving  book-table  crowded  with  miscellaneous  vol- 
umes of  poets,  critics,  and  novelists  —  mainly,  how- 
ever, with  the  first  two.  Aldous  Raeburn  read  few 
novels,  and  those  with  a  certain  impatience.  His 
mind  was  mostly  engaged  in  a  slow  wrestle  with 
difficult  and  unmanageable  fact ;  and  for  that  trans- 
formation and  illumination  of  fact  in  which  the  man 
of  idealist  temper  must  sometimes  take  refuge  and 
comfort,  he  went  easily  and  eagerly  to  the  poets  and 
to  natural  beauty.  Hardly  any  novel  writing,  or  read- 
ing, seemed  to  him  worth  while.  A  man,  he  thought, 
might  be  much  better  employed  than  in  doing  either. 

Above  the  mantelpiece  was  his  mother's  picture  — 
the  picture  of  a  young  woman  in  a  low  dress  and  mus- 
lin scarf,  trivial  and  empty  in  point  of  art,  yet  linked 
in  Aldous's  mind  with  a  hundred  touching  recollections, 
buried  all  of  them  in  the  silence  of  an  unbroken  re- 
serve. She  had  died  in  childbirth  when  he  was  nine ; 
her  baby  had  died  with  her,  and  her  husband.  Lord 
Maxwell's  only  son  and  surviving  child,  fell  a  victim 
two  years  later  to  a  deadly  form  of  throat  disease,  one 
of  those  ills  which  come  upon  strong  men  by  surprise, 
and  excite  in  the  dying  a  sense  of  helpless  wrong  which 
even  religious  faith  can  only  partially  soothe. 

Aldous  remembered  his  mother's  death;  still  more 
his  father's,  that  father  who  could  speak  no  last  mes- 
sage to  his  son,  could  only  lie  dumb  upon  his  pillows, 
with  those  eyes  full  of  incommunicable  pain,  and  the 
hand   now  restlessly  seeking,  now  restlessly  putting 


MAECELLA.  101 

aside  the  small  and  trembling  hand  of  the  son.  His 
boyhood  had  been  spent  under  the  shadow  of  these 
events,  which  had  aged  his  grandfather,  and  made  him 
too  early  realise  himself  as  standing  alone  in  the  gap 
of  loss,  the  only  hope  left  to  affection  and  to  ambition. 
This  premature  development,  amid  the  most  melan- 
choly surroundings,  of  the  sense  of  personal  import- 
ance—  not  in  any  egotistical  sense,  but  as  a  sheer 
matter  of  fact  —  had  robbed  a  nervous  and  sensitive 
temperament  of  natural  stores  of  gaiety  and  elasticity 
which  it  could  ill  do  without.  Aldous  Raeburn  had 
been  too  much  thought  for  and  too  painfully  loved. 
But  for  Edward  Hallin  he  might  well  have  acquiesced 
at  manhood  in  a  certain  impaired  vitality,  in  the 
scholar's  range  of  pleasures,  and  the  landowner's  cus- 
tomary round  of  duties. 

It  was  to  Edward  Hallin  he  was  writing  to-night, 
for  the  stress  and  stir  of  feeling  caused  by  the  events 
of  the  day,  and  not  least  by  his  grandfather's  outburst, 
seenled  to  put  sleep  far  off.  On  the  table  before  him 
stood  a  photograph  of  Hallin,  besides  a  miniature  of 
his  mother  as  a  girl.  He  had  drawn  the  miniature 
closer  to  him,  finding  sympathy  and  joy  in  its  youth,  in 
the  bright  expectancy  of  the  eyes,  and  so  wrote,  as  it 
were,  having  both  her  and  his  friend  in  mind  and  sight. 

To  Hallin  he  had  already  spoken  of  Miss  Boyce, 
drawing  her  in  light,  casual,  and  yet  sympathetic 
strokes  as  the  pretty  girl  in  a  difficult  position  whom 
one  would  watch  with  curiosity  and  some  pity.  To- 
night his  letter,  which  should  have  discussed  a  home 
colonisation  scheme  of  Hallin's,  had  but  one  topic, 
and  his  pen  flew. 


102  MARCELLA. 

"  Would  you  call  her  beautiful  ?  I  ask  myself  again 
and  again,  trying  to  put  myself  behind  your  eyes. 
She  has  nothing,  at  any  rate,  in  common  with  the 
beauties  we  have  down  here,  or  with  those  my  aunt 
bade  me  admire  in  London  last  May.  The  face  has  a 
strong  Italian  look,  but  not  Italian  of  to-day.  Do  you 
remember  the  Ghirlandajo  frescoes  in  Santa  Maria 
Novella,  or  the  side  groups  in  Andrea's  frescoes  at  the 
Annunziata?  Among  them,  among  the  beautiful  tall 
women  of  them,  there  are,  I  am  sure,  noble,  freely-poised, 
suggestive  heads  like  hers — hair,  black  wavy  hair,  folded 
like  hers  in  large  simple  lines,  and  faces  with  the  same 
long,  subtle  curves.  It  is  a  face  of  the  Renaissance, 
extraordinarily  beautiful,  as  it  seems  to  me,  in  colour 
and  expression ;  imperfect  in  line,  as  the  beauty  which 
marks  the  meeting  point  between  antique  perfection 
and  modern  character  must  always  be.  It  has  7nor- 
bklezza  —  unquiet  melancholy  charm,  then  passionate 
gaiety  —  everything  that  is  most  modern  grafted  on 
things  G-reek  and  old.  I  am  told  that  Burne  Jones 
drew  her  several  times  while  she  was  in  London,  with 
delight.  It  is  the  most  artistic  beauty,  having  both 
the  harmonies  and  the  dissonances  that  a  full-grown 
art  loves. 

"  She  may  be  twenty  or  rather  more.  The  mind 
has  all  sorts  of  ability ;  comes  to  the  right  conclusion 
by  a  divine  instinct,  ignoring  the  how  and  why. 
What  does  such  a  being  want  with  the  drudgery  of 
learning  ?  to  such  keenness  life  will  be  master  enough. 
Yet  she  has  evidently  read  a  good  deal  —  much  poetry, 
some  scattered  political  economy,  some  modern  social- 
istic books,  Matthew  xlrnold,  Ruskin,  Carlyle.  She 
takes    everything    dramatically,    imaginatively,    goes 


M Alt  CELL  A,  103 

straight  from  it  to  life,  and  back  again.  Among 
the  young  people  with  whom  she  made  acquaintance 
while  she  was  boarding  in  London  and  working  at 
South  Kensington,  there  seem  to  have  been  two 
brothers,  both  artists,  and  both  Socialists ;  ardent 
young  fellows,  giving  all  their  spare  time  to  good 
works,  who  must  have  influenced  her  a  great  deal. 
She  is  full  of  angers  and  revolts,  which  you  would 
delight  in.  And  first  of  all,  she  is  applying  herself 
to  her  father's  wretched  village,  which  will  keep  her 
hands  full.  A  large  and  passionate  humanity  plays 
about  her.  What  she  says  often  seems  to  me  foolish 
—  in  the  ear;  but  the  inner  sense,  the  heart  of  it, 
command  me. 

"  Stare  as  you  please,  ISTed  !  Only  write  to  me,  and 
come  down  here  as  soon  as  you  can.  I  can  and  will 
hide  nothing  from  you,  so  you  will  believe  me  when 
I  say  that  all  is  uncertain,  that  I  know  nothing,  and, 
though  I  hope  everything,  may  just  as  well  fear 
everything  too.  But  somehow  I  am  another  man, 
and  the  world  shines  and  glows  for  me  by  day  and 
night." 

Aldous  Raeburn  rose  from  his  chair  and,  going  to 
the  window,  stood  looking  out  at  the  splendour  of  the 
autumn  moon.  Marcella  moved  across  the  whiteness 
of  the  grass ;  her  voice  was  still  speaking  to  his 
inward  ear.  His  lips  smiled ;  his  heart  was  in  a  wild 
whirl  of  happiness. 

Then  he  walked  to  the  table,  took  up  his  letter, 
read  it,  tore  it  across,  and  locked  the  fragments  in  a 
drawer. 

"  Xot  yet,  jSTed  —  not  yet,  dear  old  fellow,  even  to 
you,"  he  said  to  himself,  as  he  put  out  his  lamp. 


CHAPTEE   VIL 

Three  days  passed.  On  the  fourtli  Marcella  re- 
turned late  in  the  afternoon  from  a  round  of  parish 
visits  with  Mary  Harden.  As  she  opened  the  oak 
doors  which  shut  off  the  central  hall  of  Mellor  from 
the  outer  vestibule,  she  saw  something  white  lying 
on  the  old  cut  and  disused  billiard  table,  which  still 
occupied  the  middle  of  the  floor  till  Kichard  Boyce, 
in  the  course  of  his  economies  and  improvements, 
could  replace  it  by  a  new  one. 

She  ran  forward  and  took  up  a  sheaf  of  cards,  turn- 
ing them  over  in  a  smiling  excitement.  "Viscount 
Maxwell,"  "Mr.  Raeburn,"  "Miss  Eaeburn,"  "Lady 
Winterbourne  and  the  Misses  Winterbourne,"  two 
cards  of  Lord  Winterbourne's  —  all  perfectly  in  form. 

Then  a  thought  flashed  upon  her.  "  Of  course  it  is 
his  doing  —  and  I  asked  him ! " 

The  cards  dropped  from  her  hand  on  the  billiard 
table,  and  she  stood  looking  at  them,  her  pride  fighting 
with  her  pleasure.  There  was  something  else  in  her 
feeling  too  —  the  exultation  of  proved  power  over  a 
person  not,  as  she  guessed,  easily  influenced,  especially 
by  women. 

"  Marcella,  is  that  you  ?  " 

It  was  her  mother's  voice.  Mrs.  Boyce  had  come 
in  from  the  garden  through   the  drawing-room,  and 

104 


MAR  CELL  A.  105 

was  standing  at  the  inner  door  of  the  hall,  trying  with 
shortsighted  eyes  to  distinguish  her  daughter  among 
the  shadows  of  the  great  bare  place.  A  dark  day  was 
drawing  to  its  close,  and  there  was  little  light  left  in 
the  hall,  except  in  one  corner  where  a  rainy  sunset 
gleam  struck  a  grim  contemporary  portrait  of  Mary 
Tudor,  bringing  out  the  obstinate  mouth  and  the 
white  hand  holding  a  jewelled  glove. 

Marcella  turned,  and  by  the  same  gleam  her  mother 
saw  her  flushed  and  animated  look. 

"  Any  letters  ?  "  she  asked. 

"No;  but  there  are  some  cards.  Oh  yes,  there  is 
a  note,"  and  she  pounced  upon  an  envelope  she  had 
overlooked.     "  It  is  for  you,  mother  —  from  the  Court." 

Mrs.  Boyce  came  up  and  took  note  and  cards  from 
her  daughter's  hand.  Marcella  watched  her  with 
quick  breath. 

Her  mother  looked  through  the  cards,  slowly  put- 
ting them  down  one  by  one  without  remark. 

"  Oh,  mother !  do  read  the  note ! "  Marcella  could 
not  help  entreating. 

Mrs.  Boyce  drew  herself  together  with  a  quick 
movement  as  though  her  daughter  jarred  upon  her, 
and  opened  the  note.  Marcella  dared  not  look  over 
her.  There  was  a  dignity  about  her  mother's  lightest 
action,  about  every  movement  of  her  slender  fingers 
and  fine  fair  head,  which  had  always  held  the  daughter 
in  check,  even  while  she  rebelled. 

Mrs.  Boyce  read  it,  and  then  handed  it  to  Marcella. 

"  I  must  go  and  make  the  tea,"  she  said,  in  a  light, 
cold  tone,  and  turning,  she  went  back  to  the  drawing- 
room,  whither  afternoon  tea  had  just  been  carried. 


106  MARCELLA. 

Marcella  followed,  reading.  The  note  was  from 
Miss  Raeburn,  and  it  contained  an  invitation  to  Mrs. 
Boyce  and  her  daughter  to  take  luncheon  at  the  Court 
on  the  following  Friday.  The  note  was  courteously 
and  kindly  worded.  "  We  should  be  so  glad,"  said 
the  writer,  "  to  show  you  and  Miss  Boyce  our  beauti- 
ful woods  while  they  are  still  at  their  best,  in  the  way 
of  autumn  colour." 

"  How  will  mamma  take  it  ? "  thought  Marcella 
anxiously.     "  There  is  not  a  word  of  papa !  " 

When  she  entered  the  drawing-room,  she  caught  her 
mother  standing  absently  at  the  tea-table.  The  little 
silver  caddy  was  still  in  her  hand  as  though  she  had 
forgotten  to  put  it  down ;  and  her  eyes,  which  evi- 
dently saw  nothing,  were  turned  to  the  window,  the 
brows  frowning.  The  look  of  suffering  for  an  instant 
was  unmistakable;  then  she  started  at  the  sound  of 
Marcella's  step,  and  put  down  the  caddy  amid  the  deli- 
cate china  crowded  on  the  tray,  with  all  the  quiet  pre- 
cision of  her  ordinary  manner. 

"You  will  have  to  wait  for  your  tea,"  she  said, 
"  the  water  doesn't  nearly  boil." 

Marcella  went  up  to  the  fire  and,  kneeling  before  it, 
put  the  logs  with  which  it  was  piled  together.  But 
she  could  not  contain  herself  for  long. 

"Will  you  go  to  the  Court,  mamma?"  she  asked 
quickly,  without  turning  round. 

There  was  a  pause.     Then  Mrs.  Boyce  said  drily  — 

"  Miss  Raeburn's  proceedings  are  a  little  unexpected. 
We  have  been  here  four  months,  within  two  miles  of 
her,  and  it  has  never  occurred  to  her  to  call.  Now 
she  calls  and  asks  us  to  luncheon  in  the  same  after- 


MAECELLA.  107 

noon.  Either  she  took  too  little  notice  of  us  before, 
or  she  takes  too  much  now  —  don't  you  think  so  ?  " 

Marcella  was  silent  a  moment.  Should  she  confess  ? 
It  began  to  occur  to  her  for  the  first  time  that  in  her 
wild  independence  she  had  been  taking  liberties  with 
her  mother. 

*'  Mamma ! " 

"  Yes.'' 

"  I  asked  Mr.  Aldous  Eaeburn  the  other  day  whether 
everybody  here  was  going  to  cut  us  I  Papa  told  me 
that  Lord  Maxwell  had  written  him  an  uncivil  letter 
and  —  " 

"  You  —  asked  —  Mr.  Kaeburn  —  "  said  Mrs.  Boyce, 
quickly.     "  What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

Marcella  turned  round  and  met  the  flash  of  her 
mother's  eyes. 

"  I  couldn't  help  it,"  she  said  in  a  low  hurried  voice. 
"  It  seemed  so  horrid  to  feel  everybody  standing  aloof 
—  we  were  walking  together  —  he  was  very  kind  and 
friendly  —  and  I  asked  him  to  explain." 

"  I  see  ! "  said  Mrs.  Boyce.  "  And  he  went  to  his 
aunt  —  and  she  went  to  Lady  Winterbourne  —  they 
were  compassionate  —  and  there  are  the  cards.  You 
have  certainly  taken  us  all  in  hand,  Marcella !  " 

^larcella  felt  an  instant's  fear  —  fear  of  the  ironic 
power  in  the  sparkling  look  so  keenly  fixed  on  her 
offending  self;  she  shrank  before  the  proud  reserve 
expressed  in  every  line  of  her  mother's  fragile  imperi- 
ous beauty.  Then  a  cry  of  nature  broke  from  the 
girl. 

'•  You  have  got  used  to  it,  mamma !  I  feel  as  if  it 
would  kill  me  to  live  here,  shut  off  from  everybody  — 


108  MABCELLA. 

joining  witli  nobody  —  with  no  friendly  feelings  or 
society.  It  was  bad  enough  in  the  old  lodging-house 
days ;  but  here  —  why  should  we  ?  " 

Mrs.  Boyce  had  certainly  grown  pale. 

"I  supposed  you  would  ask  sooner  or  later,"  she 
said  in  a  low  determined  voice,  with  what  to  Marcella 
was  a  quite  new  note  of  reality  in  it.  "  Probably  Mr. 
Eaeburn  told  you  —  but  you  must  of  course  have 
guessed  it  long  ago  —  that  society  does  not  look 
kindly  on  us  —  and  has  its  reasons.  I  do  not  den}^ 
in  the  least  that  it  has  its  reasons.  I  do  not  accuse 
anybody,  and  resent  nothing.  But  the  question  with 
me  has  always  been.  Shall  I  accept  pity  ?  I  have 
always  been  able  to  meet  it  with  a  No !  You  are  very 
different  from  me  —  but  for  you  also  I  believe  it  would 
be  the  happiest  answer." 

The  eyes  of  both  met  —  the  mother's  full  of  an 
indomitable  fire  which  had  for  once  wholly  swept 
away  her  satiric  calm  of  every  day;  the  daughter's 
troubled  and  miserable. 

"  I  want  friends  ! "  said  Marcella,  slowly.  "  There 
are  so  many  things  I  Avant  to  do  here,  and  one  can  do 
nothing  if  every  one  is  against  you.  People  would  be 
friends  with  you  and  me  —  and  with  papa  too, — 
through  us.  Some  of  them  wish  to  be  kind  "  —  she 
added  insistentl}^  thinking  of  Aldous  Raeburn's 
words  and  expression  as  he  bent  to  her  at  the  gate 
—  "I  know  they  do.  And  if  we  can't  hold  our  heads 
high  because  —  because  of  things  in  the  past  —  ought 
we  to  be  so  proud  that  we  Avon't  take  their  hands 
when  they  stretch  them  out  —  when  they  write  so 
kindly  and  nicely  as  this  ?  " 


MARCELLA.  109 

And  she  laid  her  fingers  almost  piteously  on  the 
note  upon  her  knee. 

Mrs.  Boyce  tilted  the  silver  urn  and  replenished 
the  tea-pot.  Then  with  a  delicate  handkerchief  she 
rubbed  away  a  spot  from  the  handle  of  a  spoon  near 
her. 

"  You  shall  go,"  she  said  presently  —  "  you  wish  it  — 
then  go  —  go  by  all  means.  I  will  write  to  Miss  Kae- 
burn  and  send  you  over  in  the  carriage.  One  can  put 
a  great  deal  on  health  —  mine  is  quite  serviceable  in 
the  way  of  excuses.  I  will  try  and  do  you  no  harm, 
Marcella.  If  you  have  chosen  your  line  and  wish  to 
make  friends  here  —  very  well  —  I  will  do  what  I  can 
for  you  so  long  as  you  do  not  expect  me  to  change  my 
life  —  for  which,  my  dear,  I  am  grown  too  crotchety 
and  too  old." 

Marcella  looked  at  her  Avith  dismay  and  a  yearning 
she  had  never  felt  before. 

"  And  3'ou  will  never  go  out  with  me,  mamma  ?  " 

There  was  something  childlike  and  touching  in  the 
voice,  something  which  for  once  suggested  the  normal 
filial  relation.  But  Mrs.  Boyce  did  not  waver.  She 
had  long  learnt  perhaps  to  regard  Marcella  as  a  girl 
singularly  well  able  to  take  care  of  herself ;  and  had 
recognised  the  fact  with  relief. 

"  I  will  not  go  to  the  Court  Avith  you  anyway,"  she 
said,  daintily  sipping  her  tea  —  "  in  your  interests  as 
well  as  mine.  You  will  make  all  the  greater  impression, 
my  dear,  for  I  have  really  forgotten  how  to  behave. 
Those  cards  shall  be  properly  returned,  of  course. 
For  the  rest  —  let  no  one  disturb  themselves  till  they 
must.     And  if  I  were  you,  Marcella,  I  would  hardly 


110  MARCELLA. 

discuss  the  family  affairs  any  more — with  Mr.  Raeburn 
or  anybody  else." 

And  again  her  keen  glance  disconcerted  the  tall 
handsome  girl,  whose  power  over  the  world  about  her 
had  never  extended  to  her  mother.  Marcella  flushed 
and  played  with  the  fire. 

"  You  see,  mamma,"  she  said  after  a  moment,  still 
looking  at  the  logs  and  the  shower  of  sparks  they 
made  as  she  moved  them  about,  "  you  never  let  me 
discuss  them  with  you." 

"  Heaven  forbid !  "  said  Mrs.  Boyce,  quickly  ;  then, 
after  a  pause  :  "  You  will  find  your  own  line  in  a  little 
while,  Marcella,  and  you  will  see,  if  you  so  choose  it, 
that  there  will  be  nothing  un surmountable  in  your  way. 
One  piece  of  advice  let  me  give  you.  Don't  be  too 
grateful  to  Miss  Eaeburn,  or  anybody  else !  You  take 
great  interest  in  your  Boyce  belongings,  I  perceive. 
You  may  remember  too,  perhaps,  that  there  is  other 
blood  in  you  —  and  that  no  Merritt  has  ever  submitted 
quietly  to  either  patronage  or  pity." 

Marcella  started.  Her  mother  had  never  named  her 
own  kindred  to  her  before  that  she  could  remember. 
She  had  known  for  many  years  that  there  was  a  breach 
between  the  Merritts  and  themselves.  The  newspapers 
had  told  her  something  at  intervals  of  her  Merritt  re- 
lations, for  they  were  fashionable  and  important  folk, 
but  no  one  of  them  had  crossed  the  Boyces'  threshold 
since  the  old  London  days,  wherein  Marcella  could 
still  dimly  remember  the  tall  forms  of  certain  Merritt 
uncles,  and  even  a  stately  lady  in  a  white  cap  whom 
she  knew  to  have  been  her  mother's  mother.  The 
stately  lady  had  died  while  she  was  still  a  child  at 


MARCEL  LA.  Ill 

her  first  school ;  she  could  recollect  her  own  mourning 
frock;  but  that  was  almost  the  last  personal  remem- 
brance she  had,  connected  with  the  Merritts. 

And  now  this  note  of  intense  personal  and  family 
pride,  under  which  Mrs.  Boyce's  voice  had  for  the  first 
time  quivered  a  little !  Marcella  had  never  heard  it 
before,  and  it  thrilled  her.  She  sat  on  by  the  fire, 
drinking  her  tea  and  every  now  and  then  watching  her 
companion  with  a  new  and  painful  curiosity.  The  tacit 
assumption  of  many  years  with  her  had  been  that  her 
mother  was  a  dry  limited  person,  clever  and  determined 
in  small  ways,  that  affected  her  own  family,  but  on  the 
whole  characterless  as  compared  with  other  people  of 
strong  feelings  and  responsive  susceptibilities.  But 
her  own  character  had  been  rapidly  maturing  of  late, 
and  her  insight  sharpening.  During  these  recent 
weeks  of  close  contact,  her  mother's  singularity  had 
risen  in  her  mind  to  the  dignity  at  least  of  a  problem, 
an  enigma. 

Presently  Mrs.  Boyce  rose  and  put  the  scones  down 
by  the  fire. 

"  Your  father  will  be  in,  I  suppose.  Yes,  I  hear  the 
front  door." 

As  she  spoke  she  took  off  her  velvet  cloak,  put  it 
carefully  aside  on  a  sofa,  and  sat  down  again,  still  in 
her  bonnet,  at  the  tea-table.  Her  dress  was  very  dif- 
ferent from  Marcella' s,  which,  when  they  were  not  in 
mourning,  was  in  general  of  the  ample  "  aesthetic " 
type,  and  gave  her  a  good  deal  of  trouble  out  of  doors. 
Marcella  wore  '•  art  serges "  and  velveteens ;  Mrs. 
Boyce  attired  herself  in  soft  and  costly  silks,  generally 
black,  closely  and  fashionably  made,  and  completed  by 


112  MARCELLA. 

various  fanciful  and  distinguished  trifles  —  rings,  an 
old  chatelaine,  a  diamond  brooch  —  which  Marcella 
remembered,  the  same,  and  worn  in  the  same  way, 
since  her  childhood.  Mrs.  Boyce,  however,  wore  her 
clothes  so  daintily,  and  took  such  scrupulous  and 
ingenious  care  of  them,  that  her  dress  cost,  in  truth, 
extremely  little  —  certainly  less  than  Marcella's. 

There  were  sounds  first  of  footsteps  in  the  hall,  then 
of  some  scolding  of  William,  and  finally  Mr.  Boyce 
entered,  tired  and  splashed  from  shooting,  and  evi- 
dently in  a  bad  temper. 

"Well,  what  are  you  going  to  do  about  those 
cards  ? "  he  asked  his  wife  abruptly  when  she  had 
supplied  him  with  tea,  and  he  was  beginning  to  dry 
by  the  fire.  He  was  feeling  ill  and  reckless  ;  too  tired 
anyway  to  trouble  himself  to  keep  up  appearances  with 
Marcella. 

"Eeturn  them,"  said  Mrs.  Boyce,  calmly,  blowing 
out  the  flame  of  her 'silver  kettle. 

"  I  don't  want  any  of  their  precious  society,"  he  said 
irritably.  "  They  should  have  done  their  calling  long 
ago.  There's  no  grace  in  it  now ;  I  don't  know  that 
one  isn't  inclined  to  think  it  an  intrusion." 

But  the  women  were  silent.  Marcella's  attention 
was  diverted  from  her  mother  to  the  father's  small 
dark  head  and  thin  face.  There  was  a  great  repulsion 
and  impatience  in  her  heart,  an  angry  straining  against 
circumstance  and  fate ;  yet  at  the  same  time  a  mount- 
ing voice  of  natural  affection,  an  understanding  at 
once  sad  and  new,  which  paralysed  and  silenced  her. 
He  stood  in  her  way  —  terribly  in  her  way  —  and  yet 
it  strangely  seemed  to  her,  that  never  before  till  these 
last  few  weeks  had  she  felt  herself  a  daughter. 


MARCELLA.  113 

''  You  are  very  wet,  papa,"  she  said  to  him  as  she 
took  his  cup ;  "  don't  you  think  you  had  better  go  at 
once  and  change  ?  " 

" I'm  all  right,"  he  said  shortly  —  ''as  right  as  I'm 
likely  to  be,  anyway.  As  for  the  shooting,  it's  nothing 
but  waste  of  time  and  shoe  leather.  I  shan't  go  out 
any  more.  The  place  has  been  clean  swept  by  some  of 
those  brutes  in  the  village  —  your  friends,  Marcella. 
By  the  way,  Evelyn,  I  came  across  young  Wharton  in 
the  road  just  now." 

-'•  Wharton  ?  "  said  his  wife,  interrogatively.  "  I 
don't  remember  —  ought  I  ?  " 

"Why,  the  Liberal  candidate  for  the  division,  of 
course,"  he  said  testily.  "I  wish  you  would  inform 
yourself  of  what  goes  on.  He  is  working  like  a 
horse,  he  tells  me.  Dodgson,  the  Eaeburns'  candi- 
date, has  got  a  great  start ;  this  young  man  will  want 
all  his  time  to  catch  him  up.  I  like  him.  I  won't 
vote  for  him ;  but  I'll  see  fair  play.  I've  asked  him 
to  come  to  tea  here  on  Saturday,  Evelyn.  He'll  be 
back  again  by  the  end  of  the  week.  He  stays  at 
Dell's  farm  when  he  comes  —  pretty  bad  accommo- 
dation, I  should  think.  We  must  show  him  some 
civility." 

He  rose  and  stood  with  his  back  to  the  fire,  his 
spare  frame  stiffening  under  his  nervous  determina- 
tion to  assert  himself — to  holdup  his  head  physically 
and  morally  against  those  who  would  repress  him. 

Richard  Boyce  took  his  social  punishment  badly. 
He  had  passed  his  first  weeks  at  Mellor  in  a  tremble 
of  desire  that  his  father's  old  family  and  country 
friends  should  recognise  him  again  and  condone  his 

VOL.    I.  —  8 


114  MABCELLA, 

"irregularities."  All  sorts  of  conciliatory  ideas  had 
passed  through  his  head.  He  meant  to  let  people  see 
that  he  would  be  a  good  neighbour  if  they  would  give 
him  the  chance  —  not  like  that  miserly  fool,  his 
brother  Eobert.  The  past  was  so  much  past;  who 
now  was  more  respectable  or  more  well  intentioned 
than  he  ?  He  was  an  impressionable  imaginative 
man  in  delicate  health ;  and  the  tears  sometimes 
came  into  his  eyes  as  he  pictured  himself  restored  to 
society  —  partly  by  his  own  efforts,  partly,  no  doubt, 
by  the  charms  and  good  looks  of  his  wife  and  daugh- 
ter —  forgiven  for  their  sake,  and  for  the  sake  also  of 
that  store  of  virtue  he  had  so  laboriously  accumulated 
since  that  long-past  catastrophe.  Would  not  most 
men  have  gone  to  the  bad  altogether,  after  such  a 
lapse  ?  He,  on  the  contrary,  had  recovered  himself, 
had  neither  drunk  nor  squandered,  nor  deserted  his 
wife  and  child.  These  things,  if  the  truth  were 
known,  were  indeed  due  rather  to  a  certain  lack  of 
physical  energy  and  vitality,  which  age  had  developed 
in  him,  than  to  self-conquest;  but  he  was  no  doubt 
entitled  to  make  the  most  of  them.  There  were  signs 
indeed  that  his  forecast  had  been  not  at  all  unreason- 
able. His  womenkind  ivere  making  their  way.  At 
the  very  moment  when  Lord  Maxwell  had  written 
him  a  quelling  letter,  he  had  become  aware  that  Mar- 
cella  was  on  good  terms  with  Lord  Maxwell's  heir. 
Had  he  not  also  been  stopped  that  morning  in  a  re- 
mote lane  by  Lord  Winterbourne  and  Lord  Maxwell 
on  their  way  back  from  the  meet,  and  had  not  both 
recognised  and  shaken  hands  with  him?  And  now 
there  were  these  cards. 


MAECELLA.  115 

Unfortunately,  in  spite  of  Eaebiirn's  opinion  to  the 
contrary,  no  man  in  such  a  position  and  with  such 
a  temperament  ever  gets  something  without  claiming 
more  —  and  more  than  he  can  conceivably  or  possibly 
get.  Startled  and  pleased  at  first  by  the  salutation 
which  Lord  Maxwell  and  his  companion  had  bestowed 
upon  him,  Richard  Boyce  had  passed  his  afternoon  in 
resenting  and  brooding  over  the  cold  civility  of  it.  So 
these  were  the  terms  he  was  to  be  on  with  them  — 
the  deuce  take  them  and  their  pharisaical  airs !  If 
all  the  truth  were  kno^vn,  most  men  would  look 
foolish;  and  the  men  who  thanked  God  that  they 
were  not  as  other  men,  soonest  of  all.  He  wished  he 
had  not  been  taken  by  surprise ;  he  wished  he  had  not 
answered  them ;  he  would  show  them  in  the  future 
that  he  would  eat  no  dirt  for  them  or  anybody  else. 

So  on  the  way  home  there  had  been  a  particular 
zest  in  his  chance  encounter  with  the  young  man  who 
was  likely  to  give  the  Eaeburns  and  their  candidate 
—  so  all  the  world  said  —  a  very  great  deal  of  trouble. 
The  seat  had  been  held  to  be  an  entirely  safe  one  for 
the  Maxwell  nominee.  Young  Wharton,  on  the  con- 
trary, was  making  way  every '  day,  and,  what  with 
securing  Aldous's  own  seat  in  the  next  division,  and 
helping  old  Dodgson  in  this,  Lord  Maxwell  and  his 
grandson  had  their  hands  full.  Dick  Boyce  was  glad 
of  it.  He  was  a  Tory ;  but  all  the  same  he  wished 
every  success  to  this  handsome,  agreeable  young  man, 
whose  deferential  manners  to  him  at  the  end  of  the 
day  had  come  like  ointment  to  a  wound. 

The  three  sat  on  together  for  a  little  while  in  silence. 
Marcella  kept  her  seat  by  the  fire  on  the  old  gilt  fender- 


116  MARCELLA. 

stool,  conscious  in  a  dreamlike  way  of  the  room  in 
front  of  her  —  the  stately  room  with  its  stucco  ceiling, 
its  tall  windows,  its  Prussian-blue  wall-paper  behind 
the  old  cabinets  and  faded  pictures,  and  the  chair 
covers  in  Turkey-red  twill  against  the  blue,  which  still 
remained  to  bear  witness  at  once  to  the  domestic  econ- 
omies and  the  decorative  ideas  of  old  Eobert  Boyce  — 
conscious  also  of  the  figures  on  either  side  of  her,  and 
of  her  own  quick-beating  youth  betwixt  them.  She 
was  sore  and  unhappy ;  yet,  on  the  whole,  what  she 
was  thinking  most  about  was  Aldous  Eaeburn.  What 
had  he  said  to  Lord  Maxwell  ?  —  and  to  the  Winter- 
bournes  ?  She  wished  she  could  know.  She  wished 
with  leaping  pulse  that  she  could  see  him  again 
quickly.     Yet  it  would  be  awkward  too. 

Presently  she  got  up  and  went  away  to  take  off  her 
things.  As  the  door  closed  behind  her,  Mrs.  Boyce 
held  out  Miss  Eaeburn' s  note,  which  Marcella  had 
returned  to  her,  to  her  husband. 

"  They  have  asked  Marcella  and  me  to  lunch,"  she 
said.     "  I  am  not  going,  but  I  shall  send  her." 

He  read  the  note  by  the  firelight,  and  it  produced 
the  most  contradictory  effects  upon  him. 

'^  Why  don't  you  go  ?  "  he  asked  her  aggressively, 
rousing  himself  for  a  moment  to  attack  her,  and  so 
vent  some  of  his  ill-humour. 

"I  have  lost  the  habit  of  going  out,"  she  said 
quietly,  "  and  am  too  old  to  begin  again." 

"  What !  you  mean  to  say,"  he  asked  her  angrily, 
raising  his  voice,  "  that  you  have  never  meaiit  to  do 
your  duties  here  —  the  duties  of  your  position  ?  " 


MARCELLA.  117 

"I  did  not  foresee  many,  outside  this  house  and 
land.  Why  should  we  change  our  ways  ?  TVe  have 
done  very  well  of  late.  I  have  no  mind  to  risk  w^hat 
I  have  got." 

He  glanced  round  at  her  in  a  quick  nervous  way, 
and  then  looked  back  again  at  the  fire.  The  sight  of 
her  delicate  blanched  face  had  in  some  respects  a  more 
and  more  poignant  power  with  him  as  the  years  went 
on.     His  anger  sank  into  moroseness. 

"  Then  why  do  you  let  Marcella  go  ?  What  good 
will  it  do  her  to  go  about  without  her  parents  ?  People 
will  only  despise  her  for  a  girl  of  no  spirit  —  as  they 
ought." 

"  It  depends  upon  how^  it  is  done.  I  can  arrange  it, 
I  think,"  said  Mrs.  Boyce.  "  A  woman  has  always 
convenient  limitations  to  plead  in  the  way  of  health. 
She  need  never  give  offence  if  she  has  decent  wits. 
It  will  be  understood  that  I  do  not  go  out,  and  then 
someone — Miss  Eaeburn  or  Lady  Winterbourne  — 
will  take  up  Marcella  and  mother  her." 

She  spoke  with  her  usual  light  gentleness,  but  he 
was  not  appeased. 

"If  you  were  to  talk  of  my  health,  it  would  be 
more  to  the  purpose,"  he  said,  with  grim  inconse- 
quence. And  raising  his  heavy  lids  he  looked  at  her 
full. 

She  got  up  and  went  over  to  him. 

"Do  you  feel  worse  again?  Why  will  jovl  not 
change  your  things  directly  you  come  in  ?  Would  you 
like  Dr.  Clarke  sent  for  ?  " 

She  was  standing  close  beside  him ;  her  beautiful 
hand,  for  which  in  their  young  days  it  had  pleased  his 


118  MARCELLA. 

pride  to  give  her  rings,  almost  touched  him.  A  pas- 
sionate hunger  leapt  within  him.  She  would  stoop 
and  kiss  him  if  he  asked  her ;  he  knew  that.  But  he 
would  not  ask  her;  he  did  not  want  it;  he  wanted 
something  that  never  on  this  earth  would  she  give 
him  again. 

Then  moral  discomfort  lost  itself  in  physical. 

"  Clarke  does  me  no  good  —  not  an  atom,"  he  said, 
rising.  "  There  —  don't  you  come.  I  can  look  after 
myself." 

He  went,  and  Mrs.  Boyce  remained  alone  in  the 
great  fire-lit  room.  She  put  her  hands  on  the  mantel- 
piece, and  dropped  her  head  upon  them,  and  so  stood 
silent  for  long.  There  was  no  sound  audible  in  the 
room,  or  from  the  house  outside.  And  in  the  silence  a 
proud  and  broken  heart  once  more  nerved  itself  to  an 
endurance  that  brought  it  peace  with  neither  man  nor 
God. 

^'I  shall  go,  for  all  our  sakes,"  thought  Marcella, 
as  she  stood  late  that  night  brushing  her  hair  before 
her  dimly-lighted  and  rickety  dressing-table.  "We 
have,  it  seems,  no  right  to  be  proud." 

A  rush  of  pain  and  bitterness  filled  her  heart  — 
pain,  new-born  and  insistent,  for  her  mother,  her 
father,  and  herself.  Ever  since  Aldous  Eaeburn's 
hesitating  revelations,  she  had  been  liable  to  this  sud- 
den invasion  of  a  hot  and  shamed  misery.  And  to- 
night, after  her  talk  with  her  mother,  it  could  not  but 
overtake  her  afresh. 

But  her  strong  personality,  her  passionate  sense  of 
a  moral  independence  not  to  be  undone  by  the  acts  of 


MARCELLA.  119 

another,  even  a  father,  made  her  soon  impatient  of  her 
own  distress,  and  she  flimg  it  from  her  with  decision. 

"No,  we  have  no  right  to  be  proud,"  she  repeated 
to  herself.  "It  must  be  all  true  what  Mr.  Kaeburn 
said — probably  a  great  deal  more.  Poor,  poor  mamma ! 
But,  all  the  same,  there  is  nothing  to  be  got  out  of 
empty  quarrelling  and  standing  alone.  And  it  was  so 
long  ago." 

Her  hand  fell,  and  she  stood  absently  looking  at 
her  own  black  and  white  reflection  in  the  old  flawed 
glass. 

She  was  thinking,  of  course,  of  Mr.  Raeburn.  He 
had  been  very  prompt  in  her  service.  There  could 
be  no  question  but  that  he  was  specially  interested 
in  her. 

And  he  was  not  a  man  to  be  lightly  played  upon  — 
nay,  rather  a  singularly  reserved  and  scrupulous  per- 
son. So,  at  least,  it  had  been  always  held  concerning 
him.  Marcel  la  was  triumphantly  conscious  that  he 
had  not  from  the  beginning  given  her  much  trouble. 
But  the  common  report  of  him  made  his  recent  man- 
ner towards  her,  this  last  action  of  his,  the  more 
significant.  Even  the  Hardens  —  so  Marcella  gathered 
from  her  friend  and  admirer  Mary  —  unworldly 
dreamy  folk,  wrapt  up  in  good  works,  and  in  the 
hastening  of  Christ's  kingdom,  were  on  the  alert  and 
beginning  to  take  note. 

It  was  not  as  though  he  were  in  the  dark  as  to  her 
antecedents.  He  knew  all — at  any  rate,  more  than 
she  did  —  and  yet  it  might  end  in  his  asking  her  to 
marry  him.     What  then  ? 

Scarcely  a  quiver  in   the   young  form  before  the 


120  MARCELLA. 

glass  !  Love,  at  such  a  thought,  must  have  sunk  upon 
its  knees  and  hid  its  face  for  tender  humbleness  and 
requital.  Marcella  only  looked  quietly  at  the  beauty 
which  might  easily  prove  to  be  so  important  an  arrow- 
in  her  quiver. 

What  was  stirring  in  her  was  really  a  passionate 
ambition  —  ambition  to  be  the  queen  and  arbitress  of 
human  lives  —  to  be  believed  in  by  her  friends,  to 
make  a  mark  for  herself  among  women,  and  to  make 
it  in  the  most  romantic  and  yet  natural  way,  without 
what  had  always  seemed  to  her  the  sordid  and  un- 
pleasant drudgeries  of  the  platform,  of  a  tiresome 
co-operation  with,  or  subordination  to  others  who 
could  not  understand  your  ideas. 

Of  course,  if  it  happened,  people  would  say  that 
she  had  tried  to  capture  Aldous  Raeburn  for  his  money 
and  position's  sake.  Let  them  say  it.  People  with 
base  minds  must  think  basely;  there  was  no  help  for 
it.  Those  whom  she  would  make  her  friends  would 
know  very  well  for  what  purpose  she  wanted  money, 
power,  and  the  support  of  such  a  man,  and  such  a 
marriage.  Her  modern  realism  played  with  the 
thought  quite  freely ;  her  maidenliness,  proud  and 
pure  as  it  was,  being  nowise  ashamed.  Oh !  for  some- 
thing to  carry  her  deep  into  life ;  into  the  heart  of  its 
widest  and  most  splendid  opportunities  ! 

She  threw  up  her  hands,  clasping  them  above  her 
head  amid  her  clouds  of  curly  hair  —  a  girlish  excited 
gesture. 

"  I  could  revive  the  straw-plaiting ;  give  them  better 
teaching  and  better  models.  The  cottages  should  be 
rebuilt.     Papa  would  willingly  hand  the  village  over 


MARCEL  LA.  121 

to  me  if  I  found  the  money  !  We  would  have  a  parish 
committee  to  deal  with  the  charities  —  oh!  the  Hardens 
would  come  in.  The  old  people  should  have  their 
pensions  as  of  right.  No  hopeless  old  age,  no  cringing 
dependence  !  We  would  try  co-operation  on  the  land, 
and  pull  it  through.  And  not  in  Mellor  only.  One 
might  be  the  ruler,  the  regenerator  of  half  a  county! " 

Memory  brought  to  mind  in  vivid  sequence  the 
figures  and  incidents  of  the  afternoon,  of  her  village 
round  with  Mary  Harden. 

'^  As  the  eyes  of  servants  towards  the  hand  of  their 
mistress"  —  the  old  words  occurred  to  her  as  she 
thought  of  herself  stepping  in  and  out  of  the  cottages. 
Then  she  was  ashamed  of  herself  and  rejected  the 
image  with  vehemence.  Dependence  was  the  curse 
of  the  poor.  Her  whole  aim,  of  course,  should  be  to 
teach  them  to  stand  on  their  own  feet,  to  know  them- 
selves as  men.  But  naturally  they  would  be  grateful, 
they  would  let  themselves  be  led.  Intelligence  and 
enthusiasm  give  power,  and  ought  to  give  it  —  power 
for  good.  Xo  doubt,  under  Socialism,  there  will  be 
less  scope  for  either,  because  there  will  be  less  need. 
But  Socialism,  as  a  system,  will  not  come  in  our  gen- 
eration. What  we  have  to  think  for  is  the  transition 
period.  The  Cravens  had  never  seen  that,  but  Mar- 
cella  saw  it.  She  began  to  feel  herself  a  person  of 
larger  experience  than  they. 

As  she  undressed,  it  seemed  to  her  as  though  she 
still  felt  the  clinging  hands  of  the  Hurd  children 
round  her  knees,  and  through  them,  symbolised  by 
them,  the  suppliant  touch  of  hundreds  of  other  heli> 
less  creatures. 


122  MARCELLA. 

She  was  just  dropping  to  sleep  when  her  own  words 
to  Aldous  Raeburn  flashed  across  her,  — 

"Everybody  is  so  ready  to  take  charge  of  other 
people's  lives,  and  look  at  the  result!" 

She  must  needs  laugh  at  herself,  but  it  made  little 
matter.  She  fell  asleep  cradled  in  dreams.  Aldous 
Eaeburn's  final  part  in  them  was  not  great ! 


CHAPTEK   VIII. 

Mrs.  Boyce  wrote  her  note  to  IMiss  Eaeburn,  a  note 
containing  cold  though  civil  excuses  as  to  herself, 
while  accepting  the  invitation  for  ]\[arcella,  who  should 
be  sent  to  the  Court,  either  in  the  carriage  or  under 
the  escort  of  a  maid  who  could  bring  her  back.  Mar- 
cella  found  her  mother  inclined  to  insist  punctiliously 
on  conventions  of  this  kind.  It  amused  her,  in  sub- 
mitting to  them,  to  remember  the  free  and  easy  ways 
of  her  London  life.  But  she  submitted  —  and  not 
unwillingly. 

On  the  afternoon  of  the  day  which  intervened  be- 
tween the  Maxwells'  call  and  her  introduction  to  the 
Court,  ^larcella  walked  as  usual  down  to  the  village. 
She  was  teeming  with  plans  for  her  new  kingdom,  and 
could  not  keep  herself  out  of  it.  And  an  entry  in  one 
of  the  local  papers  had  suggested  to  her  that  Hurd 
might  possibly  find  work  in  a  parish  some  miles  from 
Mellor.     She  must  go  and  send  him  off  there. 

When  Mrs.  Hurd  opened  the  door  to  her,  Marcella 
was  astonished  to  perceive  behind  her  the  forms  of 
several  other  persons  filling  up  the  narrow  space  of 
the  usually  solitary  cottage  —  in  fact,  a  tea-party. 

"Oh,  come  in,  miss,"  said  Mrs.  Hurd,  with  some 
embarrassment,  as  though  it  occurred  to  her  that  her 
visitor  might  legitimately  wonder  to  find  a  person  of 

123 


124  MABCELLA. 

lier  penury  entertaining  company.  Then,  lowering  her 
voice,  she  hurrieclly  explained :  "  There's  Mrs.  Brunt 
come  in  this  afternoon  to  help  me  wi'  the  washin'  while 
I  finished  my  score  of  plait  for  the  woman  who  takes 
'em  into  town  to-morrow.  And  there's  old  Patton  an' 
his  wife  —  you  know  'em,  miss  ?  —  them  as  lives  in  the 
parish  houses  top  o'  the  common.  He's  walked  out  a 
few  steps  to-day.  It's  not  often  he's  able,  and  when  I 
see  him  through  the  door  I  said  to  'em,  ^  if  you'll  come 
in  an'  take  a  cheer,  I  dessay  them  tea-leaves  'ull  stan' 
another  Avettin'.  I  haven't  got  nothink  else.'  And 
there's  Mrs.  Jellison,  she  came  in  along  o'  the  Pattons. 
You  can't  say  her  no,  she's  a  queer  one.  Do  you  know 
her,  miss  ?  " 

"  Oh,  bless  yer,  yes,  yes.  She  knows  me  !  "  said  a 
high,  jocular  voice,  making  Mrs.  Hurd  start ;  "  she 
couldn't  be  long  hereabouts  without  makkin'  eeaste  to 
know  me.  You  coom  in,  miss.  We're  not  afraid  o' 
you  —  Lor'  bless  you !  " 

Mrs.  Hurd  stood  aside  for  her  visitor  to  pass  in, 
looking  round  her  the  while,  in  some  perplexity,  to  see 
whether  there  was  a  spare  chair  and  room  to  place  it. 
She  was  a  delicate,  willowy  woman,  still  young  in 
figure,  with  a  fresh  colour,  belied  by  the  grey  circles 
under  the  eyes  and  the  pinched  sharpness  of  the  feat- 
ures. The  upper  lip,  which  was  pretty  and  childish, 
was  raised  a  little  over  the  teeth ;  the  whole  expres- 
sion of  the  slightly  open  mouth  was  unusually  soft 
and  sensitive.  On  the  Avhole,  Minta  Hurd  was  liked 
in  the  village,  though  she  was  thought  a  trifle  "  fine." 
The  whole  family,  indeed,  "  kept  theirsels  to  their- 
sels,"   and   to    find   Mrs.    Hurd   with   company   was 


MABCELLA.  125 

unusual.  Her  name,  of  course,  was  short  for  Ara- 
minta. 

Marcella  laughed  as  she  caught  Mrs.  Jellison's 
remarks,  and  made  her  way  in,  delighted.  For  the 
present,  these  village  people  affected  her  like  figures 
in  poetry  or  drama.  She  saw  them  with  the  eye  of 
the  imagination  through  a  medium  provided  by  Social- 
ist discussion,  or  by  certain  phases  of  modern  art;  and 
the  little  scene  of  Mrs.  Hurd's  tea-party  took  for  her 
in  an  instant  the  dramatic  zest  and  glamour. 

"  Look  here,  Mrs.  Jellison,"  she  said,  going  up  to  her; 
"  I  was  just  going  to  leave  these  apples  for  your  grand- 
son. Perhaps  you'll  take  them,  now  you're  here. 
They're  quite  sweet,  though  they  look  green.  They're 
the  best  we've  got,  the  gardener  says." 

''Oh,  they  are,  are  they?"  said  Mrs.  Jellison,  com- 
posedly, looking  up  at  her.  "Well,  put  'em  down, 
miss.  I  dare  say  he'll  eat  'em.  He  eats  most  things, 
and  don't  want  no  doctor's  stuff  nayther,  though 
his  mother  do  keep  on  at  me  for  spoilin'  his  stum- 
muck." 

"You  are  just  fond  of  that  boy,  aren't  you,  Mrs. 
Jellison?"  said  Marcella,  taking  a  wooden  stool,  the 
only  piece  of  furniture  left  in  the  tiny  cottage  on  which 
it  was  possible  to  sit,  and  squeezing  herself  into  a 
corner  by  the  fire,  whence  she  commanded  the  whole 
group.  "Xo^  don't  you  turn  Mr.  Patton  out  of  that 
chair,  Mrs.  Hurd,  or  I  shall  have  to  go  away." 

For  Mrs.  Hurd,  in  her  anxiety,  was  whispering  in 
old  Patton's  ear  that  it  might  be  well  for  him  to  give 
up  her  one  wooden  arm-chair,  in  which  he  was  estab- 
lished, to  Miss  Boyce.     But  he,  being  old,  deaf,  and 


126  MARCELLA. 

rheumatic,  was  slow  to  move,  and  Marcella's  peremp- 
tory gesture  bade  her  leave  him  in  peace. 

"Well,  it's  you  that's  the  young  'un,  ain't  it,  miss?  " 
said  Mrs.  Jellison,  cheerfully.  "  Poor  old  Patton,he  do 
get  slow  on  his  legs,  don't  you,  Patton?  But  there, 
there's  no  helping  it  when  you're  turned  of  eighty." 

And  she  turned  upon  him  a  bright,  philosophic  eye, 
being  herself  a  young  thing  not  much  over  seventy, 
and  energetic  accordingly.  Mrs.  Jellison  passed  for 
the  village  wit,  and  was  at  least  talkative  and  excit- 
able beyond  her  fellows. 

"Well,  you  don't  seem  to  mind  getting  old,  Mrs. 
Jellison,"  said  Marcella,  smiling  at  her. 

The  eyes  of  all  the  old  people  round  their  tea-table 
were  by  now  drawn  irresistibly  to  Miss  Boyce  in  the 
chimney  corner,  to  her  slim  grace,  and  the  splendour 
of  her  large  black  hat  and  feathers.  The  new  squire's 
daughter  had  so  far  taken  them  by  surprise.  Some  of 
them,  however,  were  by  now  in  the  second  stage  of 
critical  observation  —  none  the  less  critical  because 
furtive  and  inarticulate. 

"Ah?"  said  Mrs.  Jellison,  interrogatively,  with  a 
high,  long-drawn  note  peculiar  to  her.  "Well,  I've 
never  found  you  get  forrarder  wi'  snarlin'  over  what 
you  can't  help.  And  there's  mercies.  When  you've 
had  a  husband  in  his  bed  for  fower  year,  miss,  and  he's 
took  at  last,  you'll  knoiv.^' 

She  nodded  emphatically.     Marcella  laughed. 

"I  know  you  were  very  fond  of  him,  Mrs.  Jellison, 
and  looked  after  him  very  well,  too." 

"Oh,  I  don't  say  nothin'  about  that,"  said  Mrs. 
Jellison,  hastily.    "  But  all  the  same  you  kin  reckon  it 


MARCELLA.  127 

up,  and  see  for  yoursen.  Power  year  —  an'  fire  up- 
stairs, an'  fire  downstairs,  an'  fire  all  night,  an'  soom- 
thin'  alius  wanted.  An'  he  such  an  objeck  afore  he 
died !     It  do  seem  like  a  holiday  now  to  sit  a  bit." 

And  she  crossed  her  hands  on  her  lap  with  a  long 
breath  of  content.  A  lock  of  grey  hair  had  escaped 
from  her  bonnet,  across  her  wrinkled  forehead,  and 
gave  her  a  half-careless  rakish  air.  Her  youth  of 
long  ago  —  a  youth  of  mad  spirits,  and  of  an  extraor- 
dinary capacity  for  physical  enjoyment,  seemed  at 
times  to  pierce  to  the  surface  again,  even  through  her 
load  of  years.  But  in  general  she  had  a  dreamy, 
sunny  look,  as  of  one  fed  with  humorous  fancies,  but 
disinclioed  often  to  the  trouble  of  communicating 
them. 

"Well,  I  missed  my  daughter,  I  kin  tell  you,"  said 
Mrs.  Brunt,  with  a  sigh,  "  though  she  took  a  deal 
more  lookin'  after  nor  your  good  man,  Mrs.  Jellison." 

Mrs.  Brunt  was  a  gentle,  pretty  old  woman,  Avho 
lived  in  another  of  the  village  almshouses,  next  door 
to  the  Pattons,  and  Avas  always  ready  to  help  her 
neighbours  in  their  domestic  toils.  Her  last  remain- 
ing daughter,  the  victim  of  a  horrible  spinal  disease, 
had  died  some  nine  or  ten  months  before  the  Boyces 
arrived  at  Mellor.  Marcella  had  already  heard  the 
story  several  times,  but  it  was  part  of  her  social 
gift  that  she  was  a  good  listener  to  such  things  even 
at  the  twentieth  hearing. 

"You  wouldn't  have  her  back  though,"  she  said 
gently,  turning  towards  the  speaker. 

"No,  I  wouldn't  have  her  back,  miss,"  said  Mrs. 
Brunt,  raising  her  hand  to  brush  away  a  tear,  partly 


128  MARCELLA. 

the  result  of  feeling,  partly  of  a  long-established  habit. 
"But  I  do  miss  her  nights  terrible  !  'Mother,  ain't  it 
ten  o'clock  ?  —  mother,  look  at  the  clock,  do,  mother 
—  ain't  it  time  for  my  stuff,  mother  —  oh,  I  do  hope 
it  is.'  That  was  her  stuff,  miss,  to  make  her  sleep. 
And  when  she'd  got  it,  she'd  groan  —  you'd  think  she 
couldn't  be  asleep,  and  yet  she  was,  dead-like  —  for 
two  hours.  I  didn't  get  no  rest  Avith  her,  and  now  I 
don't  seem  to  get  no  rest  without  her." 

And  again  Mrs.  Brunt  put  her  hand  up  to  her  eyes. 

*'Ah,  you  were  alius  one  for  toilin'  an'  frettin'," 
said  Mrs.  Jellison,  calmly.  "  A  body  must  get  through 
wi'  it  when  it's  there,  but  I  don't  hold  wi'  thinkin' 
about  it  when  it's  done." 

"  I  know  one,"  said  old  Patton,  slily,  "  that  fretted 
about  her  darter  when  it  didn't  do  her  no  good." 

He  had  not  spoken  so  far,  but  had  sat  with  his 
hands  on  his  stick,  a  spectator  of  the  women's 
humours.  He  was  a  little  hunched  man,  twisted  and 
bent  double  with  rheumatic  gout,  the  fruit  of  seventy 
years  of  field  work.  His  small  face  was  almost  lost, 
dog-like,  under  shaggy  hair  and  overgrown  eyebrows, 
both  snow-white.  He  had  a  look  of  irritable  eager- 
ness, seldom,  however,  expressed  in  words.  A  sudden 
passion  in  the  faded  blue  eyes ;  a  quick  spot  of  red  in 
his  old  cheeks ;  these  Marcella  had  often  noticed  in 
him,  as  though  the  flame  of  some  inner  furnace  leapt. 
He  had  been  a  Radical  and  a  rebel  once  in  old  rick- 
burning  days,  long  before  he  lost  the  power  in  his 
limbs  and  came  down  to  be  thankful  for  one  of  the 
parish  almshouses.  To  his  social  betters  he  was  now 
a  quiet  and  peaceable  old   man,   well  aAvare   of  the 


MARCELLA.  129 

cakes  and  ale  to  be  got  by  good  manners ;  but  in  the 
depths  of  him  there  were  reminiscences  and  the  ghosts 
of  passions,  which  were  still  stirred  sometimes  by 
causes  not  always  intelligible  to  the  bystander. 

He  had  rarely,  however,  physical  energy  enough  to 
bring  any  emotion  —  even  of  mere  worry  at  his  physi- 
cal ills  —  to  the  birth.  The  pathetic  silence  of  age 
enwrapped  him  more  and  more.  Still  he  could  gibe 
the  women  sometimes,  especially  Mrs.  Jellison,  who 
was  in  general  too  clever  for  her  company. 

"  Oh,  you  may  talk,  Patton ! "  said  Mrs.  Jellison, 
with  a  little  flash  of  excitement.  "You  do  like  to 
have  your  talk,  don't  you !  AVell,  I  dare  say  I  teas 
orkard  with  Isabella.  I  won't  go  for  to  say  I  ivasn't 
orkard,  for  I  ii:as.  She  should  ha'  used  me  to  't  before, 
if  she  wor  took  that  way.  She  and  I  had  just  settled 
down  comfortable  after  my  old  man  went,  and  I  didn't 
see  no  sense  in  it,  an'  I  don't  now.  She  might  ha'  let 
the  men  alone.  She'd  seen  enough  o'  the  worrit  ov  'em." 

"  Well,  she  did  well  for  hersen,"  said  Mrs.  Brunt, 
with  the  same  gentle  melancholy.  "She  married  a 
stiddy  man  as  'ull  keep  her  well  all  her  time,  and  never 
let  her  want  for  nothink." 

"  A  sour,  wooden-faced  chap  as  iver  I  knew,"  said 
Mrs.  Jellison,  grudgingly.  "  I  don't  have  nothink  to 
say  to  him,  nor  he  to  me.  He  thinks  hissen  the 
G-rand  Turk,  he  do,  since  they  gi'en  him  his  uniform, 
and  made  him  full  keeper.  A  nassty,  domineerin' 
sort,  I  calls  him.  He's  alius  makin'  bad  blood  wi'  the 
yoong  fellers  when  he  don't  need.  It's  the  way  he's 
got  wi'  'im.  But  /  don't  make  no  account  of  'im,  an'  I 
let  'im  see  't." 

VOL.    I.  —  9 


130  MARCELLA.. 

All  the  tea-party  grinned  except  Mrs.  Hiird.  The 
village  was  well  acquainted  with  the  ieud  between 
Mrs.  Jellison  and  her  son-in-law,  George  Westall,  who 
had  persuaded  Isabella  Jellison  at  the  mature  age  of 
thirty-five  to  leave  her  mother  and  marry  him,  and 
was  now  one  of  Lord  Maxwell's  keepers,  with  good 
pay,  and  an  excellent  cottage  some  little  way  out  of 
the  village.  Mrs.  Jellison  had  never  forgiven  her 
daughter  for  deserting  her,  and  was  on  lively  terms 
of  hostility  with  her  son-in-law ;  but  their  only  child, 
little  Johnnie,  had  found  the  soft  spot  in  his  grand- 
mother, and  her  favourite  excitement  in  life,  now  that 
he  was  four  years  old,  was  to  steal  him  from  his 
parents  and  feed  him  on  the  things  of  Avhich  Isabella 
most  vigorously  disapproved. 

Mrs.  Hurd,  as  has  been  said,  did  not  smile.  At  the 
mention  of  Westall,  she  got  up  hastily,  and  began  to 
put  away  the  tea  things. 

Marcella  meanwhile  had  been  sitting  thoughtful. 

"  You  say  Westall  makes  bad  blood  with  the  young 
men,  Mrs.  Jellison?  "  she  said,  looking  up.  "  Is  there 
much  poaching  in  this  village  now,  do  you  think?  " 

There  was  a  dead  silence.  Mrs.  Hurd  was  at  the 
other  end  of  the  cottage  with  her  back  to  Marcella; 
at  the  question,  her  hands  paused  an  instant  in  their 
work.  The  eyes  of  all  the  old  people  —  of  Patton  and 
his  wife,  of  Mrs.  Jellison,  and  pretty  Mrs.  Brunt  — 
were  fixed  on  the  speaker,  but  nobody  said  a  word, 
not  even  Mrs.  Jellison.     Marcella  coloured. 

"  Oh,  you  needn't  suppose  —  "  she  said,  throwing 
her  beautiful  head  back,  "you  needn't  suppose  that  I 
care  about  the  game,  or  that  I  would  ever  be  mean 


MARCELLA.  131 

enough  to  tell  anything  that  was  told  me.  I  know  it 
does  cause  a  great  deal  of  quarrelling  and  bad  blood. 
I  believe  it  does  here  —  and  I  should  like  to  know 
raore  about  it.  I  want  to  make  up  my  mind  what  to 
think.  Of  course,  my  father  has  got  his  land  and  his 
own  opinions.  And  Lord  Maxwell  has  too.  But  I 
am  not  bound  to  think  like  either  of  them  —  I  should 
like  you  to  understand  that.  It  seems  to  me  right 
about  all  such  things  that  people  should  enquire  and 
find  out  for  themselves." 

Still  silence.  Mrs.  Jellison's  mouth  twitched,  and 
she  thfrew  a  sly  provocative  glance  at  old  Patton,  as 
though  she  would  have  liked  to  poke  him  in  the  ribs. 
But  she  was  not  going  to  help  him  out ;  and  at  last 
the  one  male  in  the  company  found  himself  obliged  to 
clear  his  throat  for  reply. 

"We're  old  folks,  most  on  us,  miss,  'cept  Mrs. 
Hurd.  We  don't  hear  talk  o'  things  now  like  as  we 
did  when  we  were  younger.  If  you  ast  Mr.  Harden 
he'll  tell  you,  I  dessay." 

Patton  allowed  himself  an  inward  chuckle.  Even 
Mrs.  J  ellison,  he  thought,  must  admit  that  he  knew  a 
thing  or  two  as  to  the  best  way  of  dealing  with  the 
gentry. 

But  Marcella  fixed  him  with  her  bright  frank  eyes. 

"I  had  rather  ask  in  the  village,-'  she  said.  "If 
you  don't  know  how  it  is  now,  Mr.  Patton,  tell  me 
how  it  used  to  be  when  you  were  young.  Was  the 
preserving  very  strict  about  here  ?  Were  there  often 
fights  with  the  keepers  —  long  ago?  —  in  my  grand- 
father's days  ? —  and  do  you  think  men  poached  be- 
cause they  were  hungry,  or  because  they  wanted 
sport?'' 


132  MARCELLA. 

Patton  looked  at  her  fixedly  a  moment  undecided, 
then  her  strong  nervous  youth  seemed  to  exercise  a 
kind  of  compulsion  on  him ;  perhaps,  too,  the  pretty 
courtesy  of  her  manner.  He  cleared  his  throat  again, 
and  tried  to  forget  Mrs.  Jellison,  who  would  be  sure  to 
let  him  hear  of  it  again,  whatever  he  said. 

"Well,  I  can't  answer  for  'em,  miss,  I'm  sure,  but  if 
you  ast  me,  I  b'lieve  ther's  a  bit  o'  boath  in  it.  Yer 
see  it's  not  in  human  natur,  when  a  man's  young  and 
's  got  his  blood  up,  as  he  shouldn't  want  ter  have  'is 
sport  with  the  wild  creeturs.  Perhaps  he  see  'em 
when  ee's  going  to  the  wood  with  a  wood  cart;  —  or 
he  cooms  across  'em  in  the  turnips  —  wounded  birds, 
you  understan',  miss,  perhaps  the  day  after  the  gentry 
'as  been  bangin'  at  'em  all  day.  An'  ee  don't  see,  not 
for  the  life  of  'im,  why  ee  shouldn't  have  'em.  Ther's 
bin  lots  an'  lots  for  the  rich  folks,  an'  he  don't  see 
why  ee  shouldn't  have  a  few  arter  they've  enjoyed 
theirselves.  And  mebbe  he's  eleven  shillin'  a  week  — 
an'  two-threy  little  chillen  —  you  understan',  miss  ?  " 

"  Of  course  I  understand  !  "  said  Marcella,  eagerly, 
her  dark  cheek  flashing.  "  Of  course  I  do !  But 
there's  a  good  deal  of  game  given  away  in  these 
parts,  isn't  there  ?  I  know  Lord  Maxwell  does,  and 
they  say  Lord  Winterbourne  gives  all  his  labourers 
rabbits,  almost  as  many  as  they  want." 

Her  questions  wound  old  Patton  up  as  though  he 
had  been  a  disused  clock.  He  began  to  feel  a  whirr 
among  his  creaking  wheels,  a  shaking  of  all  his  rusty 
mind. 

"  Perhaps  they  do,  miss,"  he  said,  and  his  wife  saw 
that  he  was  beginning  to  tremble.     "I  dessay  they 


MARCELLA.  133 

do  —  I  don't  sa}^  notliink  agen  it  —  though  theer's 
none  of  it  cooms  my  way.  But  that  isn't  all  the 
rights  on  it  nayther  —  no,  that  it  ain't.  The  labourin' 
man  ee's  glad  enough  to  get  a  hare  or  a  rabbit  for  'is 
eatin'  —  but  there's  more  in  it  nor  that,  miss.  Ee's 
alius  in  the  fields,  that's  where  it  is  —  ee  can't  help 
seein'  the  hares  and  the  rabbits  a-comin'  in  and  out 
o'  the  woods,  if  it  Avere  iver  so.  Ee  knows  ivery  run 
ov  ivery  one  on  'em ;  if  a  hare's  started  furthest  cor- 
ner o'  t'  field,  he  can  tell  yer  whar  she'll  git  in  by, 
because  he's  alius  there,  you  see,  miss,  an'  it's  the 
only  thing  he's  got  to  take  his  mind  off  like.  And 
then  he  sets  a  snare  or  two  —  an'  ee  gits  very  sharp 
at  settin'  on  'em  —  an'  ee'll  go  out  nights  for  the  sport 
of  it.  Ther  isn't  many  things  ee's  got  to  liven  him 
up;  an'  ee  takes  'is  chances  o'  goin'  to  jail  —  it's 
wuth  it,  ee  thinks." 

The  old  man's  hands  on  his  stick  shook  more  and 
more  visibly.  Bygones  of  his  youth  had  come  back  to 
him. 

"  Oh,  I  know !  I  know ! "  cried  Marcella,  with  an 
accent  half  of  indignation,  half  of  despair.  "  It's  the 
whole  wretched  system.  It  spoils  those  who've  got, 
and  those  who  haven't  got.  And  there'll  be  no  mend- 
ing it  till  the  people  get  the  land  back  again,  and  till 
the  rights  on  it  are  common  to  all." 

"  My !  she  do  speak  up,  don't  she  ? "  said  Mrs. 
Jellison,  grinning  again  at  her  companions.  Then, 
stooping  forward  with  one  of  her  wild  movements, 
she  caught  Marcella's  arm  — "  I'd  like  to  hear  yer 
tell  that  to  Lord  Maxwell,  miss.  I  likes  a  roompus, 
I  do." 


134  MAECELLA. 

Marcella  flushed  and  laughed. 

"  I  wouldn't  mhid  saying  that  or  anything  else  to 
Lord  Maxwell,"  she  said  proudly.  "  I'm  not  ashamed 
of  anything  I  think." 

"Xo,  I'll  bet  you  ain't,"  said  Mrs.  Jellison,  withdraw- 
ing her  hand.  "  Now  then,  Patton,  you  say  what  you 
thinks.  You  ain't  got  no  vote  now  ^^ou're  in  the 
parish  houses  —  I  minds  that.  The  quality  don't 
trouble  you  at  'lection  times.  This  yoong  man,  Muster 
Wharton,  as  is  goin'  round  so  free,  promisin'  yer  the 
sun  out  o'  the  sky,  iv  yer'll  only  vote  for  'im,  so  th' 
men  say  — ee  don't  coom  an'  set  down  along  o'  you  an' 
me,  an'  cocker  of  us  up  as  ee  do  Joe  Simmons  or  Jim 
Hurd  here.  But  that  don't  matter.  Yur  thinkin's  yur 
own,  anyway." 

But  she  nudged  him  in  vain.  Patton  had  suddenly 
run  down,  and  there  was  no  more  to  be  got  out  of 
him. 

Not  only  had  nerves  and  speech  failed  him  as  they 
were  wont,  but  in  his  cloudy  soul  there  had  risen, 
even  while  Marcella  was  speaking,  the  inevitable  sus- 
picion which  dogs  the  relations  of  the  poor  towards 
the  richer  class.  This  young  lady,  with  her  strange 
talk,  was  the  new  squire's  daughter.  And  the  village 
had  already  made  up  its  mind  that  Richard  Boyce  was 
"  a  poor  sort,"  and  "  a  hard  sort "  too,  in  his  landlord 
capacity.  He  wasn't  going  to  be  any  improvement  on 
his  brother  —  not  a  haporth !  What  was  the  good  of 
this  young  woman  talking,  as  she  did,  when  there 
were  three  summonses  as  he,  Patton,  heard  tell,  just 
taken  out  by  the  sanitary  inspector  against  Mr.  Boyce 
for   bad   cottages?     And  not  a  farthing  given  away 


MARCELLA.  135 

in  the  village  neither,  except  perhaps  the  bits  of  food 
that  the  young  lacty  herself  brought  down  to  the 
village  now  and  then,  for  which  no  one,  in  truth,  felt 
any  cause  to  be  particularly  grateful.  Besides,  what 
did  she  mean  by  asking  questions  about  the  poaching  ? 
Old  Patton  knew  as  well  as  anybody  else  in  the  vil- 
lage, that  during  Robert  Boyce's  last  days,  and  after 
the  death  of  his  sportsman  son,  the  Mellor  estate  had 
become  the  haunt  of  poachers  from  far  and  near,  and 
that  the  trouble  had  long  since  spread  into  the  neigh- 
bouring properties,  so  that  the  Winterbourne  and 
Maxwell  keepers  regarded  it  their  most  arduous  busi- 
ness to  keep  watch  on  the  men  of  Mellor.  Of  course 
the  young  woman  kneAv  it  all,  and  she  and  her  father 
wanted  to  know  more.  That  was  why  she  talked. 
Patton  hardened  himself  against  the  creeping  ways  of 
the  quality. 

'•  I  don't  think  nought,"  he  said  roughly  in  answer 
to  Mrs.  Jellison.  "  Thinkin'  won't  come  atwixt  me  and 
the  parish  coffin  when  I'm  took.  I've  no  call  to  think, 
I  tell  yer." 

^larcella's  chest  heaved  with  indignant  feeling. 

"  Oh,  but,  Mr.  Patton  !  "  she  cried,  leaning  forward 
to  him,  "  won't  it  comfort  you  a  bit,  even  if  you  can't 
live  to  see  it,  to  think  there's  a  better  time  coming? 
There  must  be.  People  can't  go  on  like  this  always 
—  hating  each  other  and  trampling  on  each  other. 
They're  beginning  to  see  it  now,  they  are !  When  I 
was  living  in  London,  the  persons  I  was  with  talked 
and  thought  of  it  all  day.  Some  day,  whenever  the 
people  choose  —  for  they've  got  the  power  now  they've 
got  the  vote  —  there'll  be  land  for  everybody,  and  in 


136  MARCELLA. 

every  village  there'll  be  a  council  to  manage  things,  and 
the  labourer  will  count  for  just  as  much  as  the  squire 
and  the  parson,  and  he'll  be  better  educated  and  better 
fed,  and  care  for  many  things  he  doesn't  care  for  now. 
But  all  the  same,  if  he  wants  sport  and  shooting,  it 
will  be  there  for  him  to  get.  For  everybody  will  have 
a  chance  and  a  turn,  and  there'll  be  no  bitterness  be- 
tween classes,  and  no  hopeless  pining  and  misery  as 
there  is  now ! " 

The  girl  broke  off,  catching  her  breath.  It  excited 
her  to  say  these  things  to  these  people,  to  these  poor 
tottering  old  things  who  had  lived  out  their  lives  to 
the  end  under  the  pressure  of  an  iron  system,  and 
had  no  lien  on  the  future,  whatever  Paradise  it  might 
bring.  Again  the  situation  had  something  foreseen 
and  dramatic  in  it.  She  saw  herself,  as  the  preacher, 
sitting  on  her  stool  beside  the  poor  grate  —  she  real- 
ised as  a  spectator  the  figures  of  the  women  and  the 
old  man  played  on  by  the  firelight  —  the  white,  bare, 
damp-stained  walls  of  the  cottage,  and  in  the  back- 
ground the  fragile  though  still  comely  form  of  Minta 
Hurd,  who  was  standing  with  her  back  to  the  dresser, 
and  her  head  bent  forward,  listening  to  the  talk 
while  her  fingers  twisted  the  straw  she  plaited  eter- 
nally from  morning  till  night,  for  a  wage  of  about  Is. 
3d.  a  week. 

Her  mind  was  all  aflame  with  excitement  and  defi- 
ance—  defiance  of  her  father,  Lord  Maxwell,  Aldous 
Eaeburn.  Let  him  come,  her  friend,  and  see  for  him- 
self what  she  thought  it  right  to  do  and  say  in  this 
miserable  village.  Her  soul  challenged  him,  longed 
to  provoke  him  !     "Well,  she  was  soon  to  meet  him, 


M ABC  ELLA.  137 

and  in  a  new  and  more  significant  relation  and  envi- 
ronment. Tlie  fact  made  her  perception  of  the  whole 
situation  the  more  rich  and  vibrant. 

Patton,  while  these  broken  thoughts  and  sensations 
were  coursing  through  ]Marcella's  head,  was  slowly 
revolving  what  she  had  been  saying,  and  the  others 
were  waiting  for  him. 

At  last  he  rolled  his  tongue  round  his  dry  lips  and 
delivered  himself  by  a  final  effort. 

'*  Them  as  likes,  miss,  may  believe  as  how  things 
are  going  to  happen  that  way,  but  yer  won't  ketch 
me  !  Them  as  have  got  'ull  keep  "  —  he  let  his  stick 
sharply  down  on  the  floor  —  ''■  an'  them  as  'aven't  got 
'ull  'ave  to  go  without  and  lump  it  —  as  long  as  you're 
alive,  miss,  you  mark  my  words  ! " 

"  Oh,  Lor',  you  wor  alius  one  for  makin'  a  poor 
mouth,  Patton ! "  said  Mrs.  Jellison.  She  had  been  sit- 
ting with  her  arms  folded  across  her  chest,  part  ab- 
sent, part  amused,  part  malicious.  '•  The  young  lady 
speaks  beautiful,  just  like  a  book  she  do.  An'  she's 
likely  to  know  a  deal  better  nor  poor  persons  like  you 
and  me.  All  I  kin  say  is,  —  if  there's  goin'  to  be  di- 
vidin'  up  of  other  folks'  property,  when  Vn\  gone,  I 
hope  George  Westall  won't  get  nothink  ov  it  I  He's 
bad  enough  as  'tis.  Isabella  'ud  have  a  fine  time  if  ee 
took  to  drivin'  ov  his  carriage." 

The  others  laughed  out,  Marcella  at  their  head,  and 
Mrs.  Jellison  subsided,  the  corners  of  her  mouth  still 
twitching,  and  her  eyes  shining  as  though  a  host  of 
entertaining  notions  were  trooping  through  her  — 
which,  however,  she  preferred  to  amuse  herself  with 
rather  than  the  public.  Marcella  looked  at  Patton 
thoughtfully. 


138  3IARCELLA. 

"  You've  been  all  your  life  in  this  village,  haven't 
you,  Mr.  Patton  ?  "  she  asked  him. 

"Born  top  o'  Witchett's  Hill,  miss.  An' iny  wife 
here,  she  wor  born  just  a  house  or  two  further  along, 
an'  we  two  bin  married  sixty-one  year  come  next 
March." 

He  had  resumed  his  usual  almshouse  tone,  civil  and 
a  little  plaintive.  His  wife  behind  him  smiled  gently 
at  being  spoken  of.  She  had  a  long  fair  face,  and 
white  hair  surmounted  by  a  battered  black  bonnet,  a 
mouth  set  rather  on  one  side,  and  a  more  observant 
and  refined  air  than  most  of  her  neighbours.  She 
sighed  while  she  talked,  and  spoke  in  a  delicate 
quaver. 

"D'ye  know,  miss,"  said  Mrs.  Jellison,  pointing  to 
Mrs.  Patton,  "as  she  kep'  school  when  she  was 
young  ?  " 

"  Did  you,  Mrs.  Patton  ?  "  asked  Marcella  in  her 
tone  of  sympathetic  interest.  "The  school  wasn't 
very  big  then,  I  suppose  ?  " 

"  About  forty,  miss,"  said  Mrs.  Patton,  with  a  sigh. 
"  There  was  eighteen  the  Kector  paid  for,  and  eighteen 
Mr.  Boyce  paid  for,  and  the  rest  paid  for  themselves." 

Her  voice  dropped  gently,  and  she  sighed  again  like 
one  weighted  with  an  eternal  fatigue. 

"  And  what  did  you  teach  them  ?  " 

"Well,  I  taught  them  the  plaitin',  miss,  and  as 
much  readin'  and  writin'  as  I  knew  myself.  It  wasn't 
as  high  as  it  is  now,  you  see,  miss,"  and  a  delicate  flush 
dawned  on  the  old  cheek  as  Mrs.  Patton  threw  a  glance 
round  her  companions  as  though  appealing  to  them 
not  to  tell  stories  of  her. 


M ABC  ELL  A.  139 

But  Mrs.  Jellison  was  implacable.  ^'It  wor  she 
taught  me,-'  she  said,  nodding  at  jNIarcella  and  point- 
ing sideways  to  Mrs.  Patton.  '•  She  had  a  queer  way 
wi'  the  hard  words,  I  can  tell  yer,  miss.  When  she 
couldn't  tell  'em  herself  she'd  never  own  up  to  it. 
^  Say  Jerusalem,  my  dear,  and  pass  on.'  That's  what 
she'd  say,  she  would,  sure's  as  you're  alive  I  I've  heard 
her  do  it  times.  An'  when  Isabella  an'  me  used  to 
read  the  Bible,  nights,  I'd  alius  rayther  do  't  than  be 
beholden  to  me  own  darter.  It  gets  3^er  through,  any- 
way." 

"•'Well,  it  wor  a  good  word,"  said  Mrs.  Patton, 
blushing  and  mildly  defending  herself.  '-It  didn't 
do  none  of  yer  any  harm." 

'•  Oh,  an'  before  her,  miss,  I  went  to  a  school  to 
another  Avoman,  as  lived  up  Shepherd's  Row.  You 
remember  her,  Betsy  Brunt  ?  " 

Mrs.  Brunt's  worn  eyes  began  already  to  gleam  and 
sparkle. 

^''  Yis,  I  recolleck  very  well,  Mrs.  Jellison.  She  wor 
Mercy  Moss,  an'  a  goodish  deal  of  trouble  you'd  use 
to  get  me  into  wi'  Mercy  Moss,  all  along  o'  your 
tricks." 

Mrs.  Jellison,  still  with  folded  arms,  began  to  rock 
herself  gently  up  and  down  as  though  to  stimulate 
memory. 

"  My  word,  but  Muster  Maurice  —  he  wor  the  clergy- 
man herp  then,  miss  —  wor  set  on  Mercy  Moss.  He 
and  his  wife  tliey  flattered  and  cockered  her  up.  Ther 
wor  nobody  like  her  for  keepin'  school,  not  in  their 
eyes  —  till  one  midsummer  —  she  —  well  she  —  I  don't 
want  to  say  nothink  onpleasant  —  hut  she  transgressed,'' 


140  MARCELLA. 

said  Mrs.  Jellison,  nodding  mysteriously,  triumphant 
however  in  the  unimpeachable  delicacy  of  her  language, 
and  looking  round  the  circle  for  approval. 

"  What  do  you  say  ?  "  asked  Marcella,  innocently. 
•'  AVhat  did  Mercy  Moss  do  ?  " 

Mrs.  Jellison's  eyes  danced  with  malice  and  mischief, 
but  her  mouth  shut  like  a  vice.  Patton  leaned  forward 
on  his  stick,  shaken  wdth  a  sort  of  inward  explosion ; 
his  plaintive  wife  laughed  under  her  breath  till  she 
must  needs  sigh  because  laughter  tired  her  old  bones. 
Mrs.  Brunt  gurgled  gently.  And  finally  Mrs.  Jellison 
was  carried  away. 

"  Oh,  my  goodness  me,  don't  you  make  me  tell  tales 
o'  Mercy  Moss ! "  she  said  at  last,  dashing  the  water 
out  of  her  eyes  with  an  excited  tremulous  hand. 
"  She's  bin  dead  and  gone  these  forty  year  —  married 
and  buried  mos'  respeckable  —  it  'ud  be  a  burning 
shame  to  bring  up  tales  agen  her  now.  Them  as  tittle- 
tattles  about  dead  folks  needn  t  look  to  lie  quiet  their- 
selves  in  their  graves.  I've  said  it  times,  and  I'll  say 
it  again.  What  are  you  lookin'  at  me  for,  Betsy 
Brunt  ?  " 

And  Mrs.  Jellison  drew  up  suddenly  with  a  fierce 
.glance  at  Mrs.  Brunt. 

"  Why,  Mrs.  Jellison,  I  niver  meant  no  offence,"  said 
Mrs.  Brunt,  hastily. 

"  I  won't  stand  no  insinooating,"  said  Mrs.  Jellison, 
with  energy.  "If  you've  got  soomthink  agen  me,  you 
may  out  Avi'  't  an'  niver  mind  the  young  lady." 

But  Mrs.  Brunt,  much  flurried,  retreated  amid  a 
shower  of  excuses,  pursued  by  her  enemy,  who  was 
soon   worrying  the  whole  little   company,   as    a   dog 


MABCELLA.  141 

worries  a  flock  of  sheep,  snapping  here  and  teasing 
there,  chattering  at  the  top  of  her  voice  in  broad  dia- 
lect, as  she  got  more  and  more  excited,  and  quite  as 
ready  to  break  her  wit  on  Marcella  as  on  anybody  else. 
As  for  the  others,  most  of  them  had  known  little  else 
for  weeks  than  alternations  of  toil  and  sickness ;  they 
were  as  much  amused  and  excited  to-night  by  Mrs. 
Jellison's  audacities  as  a  Londoner  is  by  his  favourite 
low  comedian  at  his  favourite  music-hall.  They  played 
chorus  to  her,  laughed,  baited  her;  even  old  Patton 
was  drawTi  against  his  will  into  a  caustic  sociability. 

Marcella  meanwhile  sat  on  her  stool,  her  chin  upon 
her  hand,  and  her  full  glowing  eyes  turned  upon  the 
little  spectacle,  absorbing  it  all  with  a  covetous 
curiosity. 

The  light-heartedness,  the  power  of  enjoyment  left 
in  these  old  folk  struck  her  dumb.  Mrs.  Brunt  had 
an  income  of  two-and-sixpence  a  week,  plus  two  loaves 
from  the  parish,  and  one  of  the  parish  or  ''  charity  " 
houses,  a  hovel,  that  is  to  sa}^,  of  one  room,  scarcely 
fit  for  human  habitation  at  all.  She  had  lost  five 
children,  was  allowed  two  shillings  a  w^eek  by  two 
labourer  sons,  and  earned  sixpence  a  week  —  about  — 
by  continuous  work  at  "  the  plait."  Her  husband  had 
been  run  over  by  a  farm  cart  and  killed ;  up  to  the 
time  of  his  death  his  earnings  averaged  about  twenty- 
eight  pounds  a  year.  Much  the  same  with  the  Pat- 
tons.  They  had  lost  eight  children  out  of  ten,  and 
were  now  mainly  supported  by  the  wages  of  a  daugh- 
ter in  service.  Mrs.  Patton  had  of  late  years  suffered 
agonies  and  humiliations  indescribable,  from  a  terrible 
illness  which  the  parish  doctor  was  quite  incompetent 


142  MARCELLA. 

to  treat,  being  all  through  a  singularly  sensitive 
woman,  with  a  natural  instinct  for  the  decorous  and 
the  beautiful. 

Amazing !  Starvation  wages  ;  hardships  of  sick- 
ness and  pain  ;  horrors  of  birth  and  horrors  of  death  ; 
w^holesale  losses  of  kindred  and  friends  ;  the  meanest 
surroundings  ;  the  most  sordid  cares  —  of  this  mingled 
cup  of  village  fate  every  person  in  the  room  had 
drunk,  and  drunk  deep.  Yet  here  in  this  autumn  twi- 
light, they  laughed  and  chattered,  and  joked  —  weird, 
wrinkled  children,  enjoying  an  hour's  rough  play  in 
a  clearing  of  the  storm !  Dependent  from  birth  to 
death  on  squire,  parson,  parish,  crushed  often,  and  ill- 
treated,  according  to  their  own  ideas,  but  bearing  so 
little  ill-will;  amusing  themselves  with  their  own 
tragedies  even,  if  they  could  but  sit  by  a  fire  and 
drink  a  neighbour's  cup  of  tea. 

Her  heart  swelled  and  burned  within  her.  Yes,  the 
old  x^eople  were  past  hoping  for;  mere  wreck  and 
driftwood  on  the  shore,  the  spring-tide  of  death  would 
soon  have  swept  them  all  into  unremembered  graves. 
But  the  young  men  and  women,  the  children,  were 
they  too  to  grow  up,  and  grow  old  like  these  —  the 
same  smiling,  stunted,  ignobly  submissive  creatures  ? 
One  woman  at  least  would  do  her  best  with  her  one 
])Oor  life  to  rouse  some  of  them  to  discontent  and 
revolt ! 


CHAPTER   IX. 

The  lire  sank,  and  Mrs.  Hurd  made  no  haste  to  light 
lier  lamp.  Soon  the  old  people  were  dim  chattering 
shapes  in  a  red  darkness.  Mrs.  Hurd  still  plaited, 
silent  and  upright,  lifting  her  head  every  now  and 
then  at  each  sound  upon  the  road. 

At  last  there  was  a  knock  at  the  door.  Mrs.  Hurd 
ran  to  open  it. 

"  Mother,  I'm  going  your  way,"  said  a  strident  voice. 
"  I'll  help  you  home  if  you've  a  mind." 

On  the  threshold  stood  Mrs.  Jellison's  daughter, 
Mrs.  Westall,  with  her  little  boy  beside  her,  the 
woman's  broad  shoulders  and  harsh  striking  head 
standing  out  against  the  pale  sky  behind.  Marcella 
noticed  that  she  greeted  none  of  the  old  people,  nor 
they  her.  And  as  for  Mrs.  Hurd,  as  soon  as  she  saw 
the  keeper's  wife,  she  turned  her  back  abruptly  on  her 
visitor,  and  walked  to  the  other  end  of  the  kitchen. 

^'  Are  you  comin',  mother  ?  "  repeated  Isabella. 

Mrs.  Jellison  grumbled,  gibed  at  her,  and  made  long 
leave-takings,  while  the  daughter  stood  silent,  waiting, 
and  every  now  and  then  peering  at  Marcella,  who  had 
never  seen  lier  before. 

"I  don'  know  where  yur  manners  is,"  said  Mrs. 
Jellison  sharply  to  lier,  as  though  she  had  been  a  child 
of  ten,  "that  you  don't  say  good  evenin'  to  the  young 
lady."' 

143 


144  MAECELLA. 

Mrs.  Westall  curtsied  low,  and  hoped  she  might  be 
excused,  as  it  had  grown  so  dark.  Her  tone  was 
smooth  and  servile,  and  Marcella  disliked  her  as  she 
shook  hands  with  her. 

The  other  old  people,  including  Mrs.  Brunt,  departed 
a  minute  or  two  after  the  mother  and  daughter,  and 
Marcella  was  left  an  instant  with  Mrs.  Hurd. 

"  Oh,  thank  you,  thank  you  kindly,  miss,"  said  Mrs. 
Hurd,  raising  her  apron  to  her  eyes  to  staunch  some 
irrepressible  tears,  as  Marcella  showed  her  the  adver- 
tisement which  it  might  possibly  be  worth  Hurd's 
while  to  answer.  "  He'll  try,  you  may  be  sure.  But 
I  can't  think  as  how  anythink  'ull  come  ov  it." 

And  then  suddenly,  as  though  something  unex- 
plained had  upset  her  self-control,  the  poor  patient 
creature  utterly  broke  down.  Leaning  against  the 
bare  shelves  which  held  their  few  pots  and  pans,  she 
threw  her  apron  over  her  head  and  burst  into  the  for- 
lornest  weeping.  "  I  wish  I  was  dead ;  I  wish  I  was 
dead,  an'  the  chillen  too !  " 

Marcella  hung  over  her,  one  flame  of  passionate 
pity,  comforting,  soothing,  promising  help.  Mrs.  Hurd 
presently  recovered  enough  to  tell  her  that  Hurd  had 
gone  off  that  morning  before  it  was  light  to  a  farm 
near  Thame,  where  it  had  been  told  him  he  might 
possibly  find  a  job. 

"  But  he'll  not  find  it,  miss,  he'll  not  find  it,"  she 
said,  twisting  her  hands  in  a  sort  of  restless  misery ; 
'Hhere's  nothing  good  happens  to  such  as  us.  An'  he 
wor  alius  a  one  to  work  if  he  could  get  it." 

There  was  a  sound  outside.  Mrs.  Hurd  flew  to  the 
door,  and  a  short,  deformed  man,  with  a  large  head 


31  AR  CELL  A.  145 

and  red  hair,  stumbled  in  blindly,  splashed  with  mud 
up  to  his  waist,  and  evidently  spent  with  long  walking. 

He  stopped  on  the  threshold,  straining  his  eyes  to 
§ee  through  the  fire-lit  gloom. 

"  It's  Miss  Boyce,  Jim,"  said  his  wife.  ''  Did  you 
hear  of  anythink  ?  '' 

"  They're  turnin'  off  hands  instead  of  takin'  ov  'em 
on,"  he  said  briefly,  and  fell  into  a  chair  by  the  grate. 

He  had  hardly  greeted  Marcella,  who  had  certainly 
looked  to  be  greeted.  Ever  since  her  arrival  in  August, 
as  she  had  told  Aldous  Raeburn,  she  had  taken  a  warm 
interest  in  this  man  and  his  family.  There  was  some- 
thing about  them  which  marked  them  out  a  bit  from 
their  fellows  —  whether  it  was  the  husband's  strange 
but  not  repulsive  deformity,  contrasted  with  the  touch 
of  plaintive  grace  in  the  wife,  or  the  charm  of  the 
elfish  children,  with  their  tiny  stick-like  arms  and  legs, 
and  the  glancing  wildness  of  their  blue  eyes,  under 
the  frizzle  of  red  hair,  which  shone  round  their  little 
sickly  faces.  Very  soon  she  had  begun  to  haunt  them 
in  her  eager  way,  to  try  and  penetrate  their  peasant 
lives,  which  were  so  full  of  enigma  and  attraction  to 
her,  mainly  because  of  their  very  defectiveness,  their 
closeness  to  an  animal  simplicity,  never  to  be  reached 
by  any  one  of  her  sort.  She  soon  discovered  or  im- 
agined that  Hurd  had  more  education  than  his  neigh- 
bours. At  any  rate,  he  would  sit  listening  to  her  — 
and  smoking,  as  she  made  him  do  —  while  she  talked 
politics  and  socialism  to  him;  and  though  he  said 
little  in  return,  she  made  the  most  of  it,  and  was  sure 
anyway  that  he  was  glad  to  see  her  come  in,  and  must 
some  time  read  the  labour  newspapers  and  Yenturist 

VOL.    I.  — 10 


146  MARC  ELL  A. 

leaflets  she  brought  him,  for  they  were  always  well 
thumbed  before  they  came  back  to  her. 

But  to-niglit  his  sullen  weariness  would  make  no 
effort,  and  the  hunted  restless  glances  he  threw  from 
side  to  side  as  he  sat  crouchiug  over  the  fire  —  the 
large  mouth  tight  shut,  the  nostrils  working  —  showed 
her  that  he  would  be  glad  when  she  went  away. 

Her  young  exacting  temper  was  piqued.  She  had 
been  for  some  time  trying  to  arrange  their  lives  for 
them.  So,  in  spite  of  his  dumb  resistance,  she  lingered 
on,  questioning  and  suggesting.  As  to  the  advertise- 
ment she  had  brought  down,  he  put  it  aside  almost 
without  looking  at  it.  "  There  ud  be  a  hun'erd  men 
after  it  before  ever  he  could  get  there,"  was  all  he 
would  say  to  it.  Then  she  inquired  if  he  had  been  to 
ask  the  steward  of  the  Maxwell  Court  estate  for  work. 
He  did  not  answer,  but  Mrs.  Hurd  said  timidly  that 
she  heard  tell  a  new  drive  was  to  be  made  that  win- 
ter for  the  sake  of  giving  employment.  But  their  own 
men  on  the  estate  would  come  first,  and  there  were 
plenty  of  them  out  of  work. 

"  Well,  but  there  is  the  game,"  persisted  Marcella. 
"Isn't  it  possible  they  might  want  some  extra  men 
now  the  pheasant  shooting  has  begun.  I  might  go 
and  inquire  of  Westall  —  I  knoAv  him  a  little." 

The  wife  made  a  startled  movement,  and  Hurd  raised 
his  misshapen  form  with  a  jerk. 

"  Thank  yer,  miss,  but  1*11  not  trouble  yer.  I  don't 
want  nothing  to  do  with  Westall." 

And  taking  up  a  bit  of  half-burnt  wood  which  lay 
on  the  hearth,  he  threw  it  violently  back  into  the 
grate.     Marcella  looked  from  one  to  the  other  with 


MARCELLA.  147 

surprise.  Mrs.  Hiird's  expression  was  one  of  miser- 
able discomfort,  and  she  kept  twisting  her  apron  in 
her  gnarled  hands. 

"Yes,  I  shall  tell,  Jim!"  she  broke  out.  "I  shall. 
I  know  Miss  Boyce  is  one  as  ull  understand  — '' 

Hurd  turned  round  and  looked  at  his  wife  full. 
But  she  persisted. 

"You  see,  miss,  they  don't  speak,  don't  Jijn  and 
George  Westall.  When  Jim  was  quite  a  lad  he  was 
employed  at  Mellor,  under  old  Westall,  George's  father 
as  was.  Jim  was  ^watcher,'  and  young  George  he 
was  assistant.  That  was  in  Mr.  Robert's  days,  you 
understand,  miss  —  when  Master  Harold  was  alive; 
and  they  took  a  deal  o'  trouble  about  the  game.  An' 
George  Westall,  he  was  allays  leading  the  others  a 
life  —  tale-bearing  an'  spyin',  an'  settin'  his  father 
against  any  of  'em  as  didn't  give  in  to  him.  An',  oh, 
he  behaved'  fearful  to  Jim  !  Jim  ull  tell  you.  Now, 
Jim,  what's  wrong  with  you  — why  shouldn't  I  tell  ?  " 

For  Hurd  had  risen,  and  as  he  and  his  wife  looked 
at  each  other  a  sort  of  mute  conversation  seemed  to 
pass  between  them.  Then  he  turned  angrily,  and  went 
out  of  the  cottage  by  the  back  door  into  the  garden. 

The  wife  sat  in  some  agitation  a  moment,  then  she 
resumed.  '•  He  can't  bear  no  talk  about  Westall  —  it 
seems  to  drive  him  silly.  But  T  say  as  how  people 
should  know." 

Her  wavering  eye  seemed  to  interrogate  her  com- 
panion. Marcella  was  puzzled  by  her  manner  —  it 
was  so  far  from  simple. 

"But  that  was  long  ago,  surely,"  she  said. 

"Yes,  it  wor  long  ago,  but  you  don't  forget  them 


148  MARCELLA. 

things,  miss  !  An'  Westall,  he's  just  the  same  sort  as 
he  was  then,  so  folks  say,"  she  added  hurriedly.  "You 
see  Jim,  miss,  how  he's  made  ?  His  back  was  twisted 
that  way  when  he  was  a  little  un.  His  father  was  a 
good  old  man  —  everybody  spoke  well  of  'im  —  but  his 
mother,  she  was  a  queer  mad  body,  with  red  hair,  just 
like  Jim  and  the  children,  and  a  temper!  my  word. 
They  do  say  she  was  an  Irish  girl,  out  of  a  gang  as 
used  to  work  near  here  —  an'  she  let  him  drop  one  day 
when  she  was  in  liquor,  an'  never  took  no  trouble 
about  him  afterwards.  He  was  a  poor  sickly  lad,  he 
was  !  you'd  wonder  how  he  grew  up  at  all.  And  oh  ! 
George  Westall  he  treated  him  cruel.  He'd  kick  and 
swear  at  him ;  then  he'd  dare  him  to  fight,  an'  thrash 
him  till  the  others  came  in,  an'  got  him  away.  Then 
he'd  carry  tales  to  his  father,  and  one  day  old  Westall 
beat  Jim  within  an  inch  of  'is  life,  with  a  strap  end, 
because  of  a  lie  George  told  'im.  The  poor  cha})  lay 
in  a  ditch  under  Disley  Wood  all  day,  because  he  was 
that  knocked  about  he  couldn't  walk,  and  at  night  he 
crawled  home  on  his  hands  and  knees.  He's  shown 
me  the  place  many  a  time  !  Then  he  told  his  father, 
and  next  morning  he  told  me,  as  he  couldn't  stand  it 
no  longer,  an'  he  never  went  back  no  more." 

"And  he  told  no  one  else  ?  —  he  never  complained ? " 
asked  Marcella,  indignantly. 

"What  ud  ha  been  the  good  o'  that,  miss?"  Mrs. 
Hurd  said,  wondering.  "Nobody  ud  ha  taken  his 
word  agen  old  Westall's.  But  he  come  and  told  me. 
I  was  housemaid  at  Lady  Leven's  then,  an'  he  and  his 
father  were  old  friends  of  ourn.  And  I  knew  George 
Westall   too.     He   used   to  walk   out  with  me  of   a 


MABCELLA.  149 

Sunday,  just  as  civil  as  could  be,  and  give  my  mother 
rabbits  now  and  again,  and  do  anything  I'd  ask  him. 
An'  I  up  and  told  liiui  he  was  a  brute  to  go  ill-treatin' 
a  sickly  fellow  as  couldn't  pay  him  back.  That  made 
him  as  cross  as  vinegar,  an'  when  Jim  began  to  be 
about  with  me  ov  a  Sunday  sometimes,  instead  of  him, 
he  got  madder  and  madder.  An'  Jim  asked  me  to 
marry  him  —  he  begged  of  me  —  an'  I  didn't  know 
what  to  say.  For  Westall  had  asked  me  tAvice ;  an' 
I  was  afeard  of  Jim's  health,  an'  the  low  wages  he'd 
get,  an'  of  not  bein'  strong  myself.  But  one  day  I  was 
going  up  a  lane  into  Tudley  End  woods,  an'  I  heard 
George  Westall  on  tother  side  of  the  hedge  with  a 
young  dog  he  was  training.  Somethin'  crossed  him, 
an'  he  flew  into  a  passion  with  it.  It  turned  me  sick. 
I  ran  away  and  I  took  against  him  there  and  then. 
I  was  frightened  of  him.  I  duresn't  trust  myself, 
and  I  said  to  Jim  I'd  take  him.  So  you  can  under- 
stan',  miss,  can't  you,  as  Jim  don't  want  to  have  noth- 
ing to  do  with  Westall  ?  Thank  you  kindly,  all  the 
same,"  she  added,  breaking  off  her  narrative  with  the 
same  uncertainty  of  manner,  the  same  timid  scrutiny 
of  her  visitor  that  Marcella  had  noticed  before. 

Marcella  replied  that  she  could  certainly  understand. 

"  But  I  suppose  they've  not  got  in  each  other's  way 
of  late  years,"  she  said  as  she  rose  to  go. 

"  Oh !  no,  miss,  no,"  said  Mrs.  Hurd  as  she  went 
hurriedly  to  fetch  a  fur  tippet  which  her  visitor  had 
laid  down  on  the  dresser. 

"  There  is  one  person  I  can  speak  to,"  said  Marcella, 
as  she  put  on  the  wrap.  "And  I  will."  Against  her 
will  she  reddened  a  little ;  but  she  had  not  been  able 


150  MARCELLA. 

to  help  throwing  out  the  promise.  ''  And  now,  you 
won't  despair,  will  you  ?  You'll  trust  me  ?  T  could 
always  do  something." 

She  took  Mrs.  Kurd's  hand  with  a  sweet  look  and 
gesture.  Standing  there  in  her  tall  vigorous  youth, 
her  furs  wrapped  about  her,  she  had  the  air  of  pro- 
tecting and  guiding  this  poverty  that  could  not  help 
itself.  The  mother  and  wife  felt  herself  shy,  intimi- 
dated.    The  tears  came  back  to  her  brown  eyes. 

When  Miss  Boyce  had  gone,  Minta  Hurd  Avent  to 
the  fire  and  put  it  together,  sighing  all  the  time,  her 
face  still  red  and  miserable. 

The  door  opened  and  her  husband  came  in.  He 
carried  some  potatoes  in  his  great  earth-stained  hands. 

"  You're  goin'  to  put  that  bit  of  hare  on  ?  Well, 
mak'  eeaste,  do,  for  I'm  starvin'.  What  did  she  want 
to  stay  all  that  time  for  ?  You  go  and  get  it.  I'll 
blow  the  fire  up  —  damn  these  sticks  !  —  they're  as 
wet  as  Dugnall  pond." 

Nevertheless,  as  she  sadly  came  and  went,  preparing 
the  supper,  she  saw  that  he  was  appeased,  in  a  better 
temper  than  before. 

"  What  did  you  tell  'er  ?  "  he  asked  abruptly. 

"  What  do  you  spose  I'd  tell  her  ?  I  acted  for  the 
best.  I'm  always  thinkin'  for  you  ! "  she  said  as  though 
with  a  little  cry,  "  or  Ave'd  soon  be  in  trouble  —  worse 
trouble  than  we  are  ! "  she  added  miserably. 

He  stopped  working  the  old  bellows  for  a  moment, 
and,  holding  his  long  chin,  stared  into  the  flames. 
With  his  deformity,  his  earth-stains,  his  blue  eyes, 
his  brown  wrinkled  skin^  and  his  shock  of  red  hair, 


MARCELLA.  151 

he  had  the  look  of  some  strange  gnome  crouching 
there. 

••I  don't  know  what  you're  at,  I'll  swear/'  he  said 
after  a  pause.  '•  I  ain't  in  any  pertickler  trouble  just 
now  —  if  yer  wouldn't  send  a  fellow  stumpin'  the 
country  for  nothink.  If  you'll  just  let  me  alone  I'll 
get  a  livin'  for  you  and  the  chillen  right  enough.  Don't 
you  trouble  yourself  —  an'  hold  your  tongue  I '' 

She  threw  down  her  apron  w^ith  a  gesture  of  despair 
as  she  stood  beside  him,  in  front  of  the  fire,  watching 
the  pan. 

••  What  am  I  to  do,  Jim,  an'  them  chillen  —  when 
you're  took  to  prison  ?  "  she  asked  him  vehemently. 

"I  shan't  get  took  to  prison,  I  tell  yer.  All  the 
same,  Westall  got  holt  o'  me  this  mornin'.  I  thought 
praps  you'd  better  know^" 

Her  exclamation  of  terror,  her  wild  look  at  him. 
were  exactly  what  he  had  expected :  nevertheless,  he 
flinched  before  them.  His  brutality  w^as  mostly  as- 
sumed. He  had  adopted  it  as  a  mask  for  more  than  a 
year  past,  because  he  must  go  his  way,  and  she  worried 
him. 

"  Now  look  here,"  he  said  resolutely,  "  it  don't  mat- 
ter. I'm  not  goin'  to  be  took  by  AVestall.  I'd  kill  him 
or  myself  first.  But  he  caught  me  lookin'  at  a  snare 
this  mornin'  —  it  wor  misty,  and  I  didn't  see  no  one 
comin'.  It  wor  close  to  the  footpath,  and  it  worn't  my 
snare." 

"  *  Jim,  my  chap,'  says  he,  mockin',  '  I'm  sorry  for 
it,  but  I'm  going  to  search  yer,  so  take  it  quietly,' 
says  he.  He  had  young  Dynes  with  him  —  so  I  didn't 
say  nought  —  I  kep'  as  still  as  a  mouse,  an'  sure  enough 


152  MAttCELLA. 

he  put  iiis  ugly  lian's  into  all  my  pockets.     An'  what 
do  yer  think  he  foun'  ?  " 

"  What  ?  "  she  said  breathlessly. 

"  Nothink ! "  he  laughed  out.  "  Nary  an  end  o' 
string,  nor  a  kink  o'  wire  —  nothink.  I'd  hidden  the 
two  rabbits  I  got  las'  night,  and  all  niy  bits  o'  things 
in  a  ditch  far  enough  out  o'  his  way.  I  just  laughed 
at  the  look  ov  'im.  '  I'll  have  the  law  on  yer  for  assault 
an'  battery,  yer  damned  miscalculatin'  brute  ! '  says  I 
to  him  — '  why  don't  yer  get  that  boy  there  to  teach 
yer  your  business  ? '  An'  off  I  walked.  Don't  you 
be  afeared  -^  'ee'll  never  lay  hands  on  me  !  " 

But  Minta  was  sore  afraid,  and  went  on  talking  and 
lamenting  while  she  made  the  tea.  He  took  little  heed 
of  her.  He  sat  by  the  fire  quivering  and  thinking. 
In  a  public-house  two  nights  before  this  one,  overtures 
had  been  made  to  him  on  behalf  of  a  well-known  gang 
of  poachers  with  head-quarters  in  a  neighbouring 
county  town,  who  had  their  eyes  on  the  pheasant  pre- 
serves in  Westall's  particular  beat  —  the  Tudley  End 
beat  —  and  wanted  a  local  watcher  and  accomplice. 
He  had  thought  the  matter  at  first  too  dangerous  to 
touch.  Moreover,  he  was  at  that  moment  in  a  period 
of  transition,  pestered  by  Minta  to  give  up  ''the 
poachin',"  and  yet  drawn  back  to  it  after  his  spring 
and  summer  of  field  work  by  instincts  only  recently 
revived,  after  long  dormancy,  but  now  hard  to  resist. 

Presently  he  turned  with  anger  upon  one  of  Minta's 
wails  which  happened  to  reach  him. 

"  Look  'ere  !  "  said  he  to  her,  "  where  ud  you  an'  the 
chillen  be  this  night  if  I  'adn't  done  it  ?  'Adn't  we 
got  rid  of  every  stick  o'  stuff  we  iver  'ad  ?     'Ere's  a 


MAPiCELLA.  153 

well-furiiisliecl  place  for  a  chap  to  sit  in  I  "  —  he  glanced 
bitterly  round  the  bare  kitchen,  which  had  none  of  the 
little  properties  of  the  country  poor,  no  chest,  no  set 
of  mahogany  drawers,  no  comfortable  chair,  nothing, 
but  the  dresser  and  the  few  rush  chairs  and  the  table, 
and  a  few  odds  and  ends  of  crockery  and  household 
stuff  —  ^-wouldn't  we  all  a  bin  on  the  parish,  if  we 
'adn't  starved  fust  —  icoulduH  ^ye  ?  —  jes'  answer  me 
that !  Didiit  we  sit  here  an'  starve,  till  the  bones  was 
comin'  through  the  chillen's  skin  ?  —  didn't  Ave  ?  " 

That  he  could  still  argue  the  point  with  her  showed 
the  inner  vulnerableness,  the  inner  need  of  her  affec- 
tion and  of  peace  with  her,  which  he  still  felt,  far  as 
certain  new  habits  were  beginning  to  sweep  him  from 
her. 

''  It's  "Westall  or  Jenkins  (Jenkins  was  the  village 
policeman)  havin'  the  law  on  yer,  Jim,"  she  said  with 
emphasis,  putting  down  a  cup  and  looking  at  him  — 
'•  it's  the  thought  of  that  makes  me  cold  in  my  back. 
None  o'  my  people  was  ever  in  prison  —  an'  if  it 
'appened  to  you  I  should  just  die  of  shame  ! " 

'•  Then  yer'd  better  take  and  read  them  papers  there 
as  she  brought,"  he  said  impatiently,  first  jerking  his 
finger  over  his  shoulder  in  the  direction  of  jNIellor  to 
indicate  Miss  Boyce,  and  then  pointing  to  a  heap  of 
newspapers  which  lay  on  the  floor  in  a  corner,  '•  they'd 
tell  yer  summat  about  the  shame  o'  makbi'  them  game- 
laws  — not  o'  breakin'  ov  'em.  But  I'm  sick  o'  this  ! 
Where's  them  chillen  ?  Why  do  yer  let  that  boy  out 
so  late  ?  " 

And  opening  the  door  he  stood  on  the  threshold 
looking  up  and  down  the  village  street,  while  Minta 


154  MARCELLA. 

once  more  gave  up  the  struggle,  dried  her  eyes,  and 
told  herself  to  be  cheerful.  But  it  was  hard.  She 
was  far  l)etter  born  and  better  educated  than  her  hus- 
band. Her  father  had  been  a  small  master  chair- 
maker  in  Wycombe,  and  her  mother,  a  lackadaisical 
silly  woman,  had  given  her  her  '•  fine  "  name  by  way 
of  additional  proof  that  she  and  her  children  were 
something  out  of  the  common.  Moreover,  she  had 
the  conforming  law-abiding  instincts  of  the  well- 
treated  domestic  servant,  who  has  lived  on  kindly 
terms  with  the  gentry  and  shared  their  standards. 
And  for  years  after  their  marriage  Hurd  had  allowed 
her  to  govern  him.  He  had  been  so  patient,  so  hard- 
working, such  a  kind  husband  and  father,  so  full  of 
a  dumb  wish  to  show  her  he  Avas  grateful  to  her  for 
marrying  such  a  fellow  as  he.  The  quarrel  with 
Westall  seemed  to  have  sunk  out  of  his  mind.  He 
never  spoke  to  or  of  him.  Low  wages,  the  burden  of 
quick-coming  children,  the  bad  sanitary  conditions  of 
their  wretched  cottage,  and  poor  health,  had  made 
their  lives  one  long  and  sordid  struggle.  But  for 
years  he  had  borne  his  load  with  extraordinary  pa- 
tience. He  and  his  could  just  exist,  and  the  man  who 
had  been  in  youth  the  lonely  victim  of  his  neighbours' 
scorn  had  found  a  woman  to  give  him  all  herself  and 
children  to  love.  Hence  years  of  submission,  a  hidden 
flowering  time  for  both  of  them. 

Till  that  last  awful  winter !  —  the  Avinter  before 
Richard  Boyce's  succession  to  Mellor  —  when  the 
farmers  had  been  mostly  ruined,  and  half  the  able- 
bodied  men  of  Mellor  had  tramped  "  up  into  the 
smoke,"  as  the  village  put  it,  in  search  of  London  work 


MARCELLA.  155 

—  then,  out  of  actual  sheer  starvation  —  that  very  rare 
excuse  of  the  poacher !  —  Hurt!  had  gone  one  night 
and  snared  a  hare  on  the  Mellor  land.  Would  the 
wife  and  mother  ever  forget  the  pure  animal  satisfac- 
tion of  that  meal,  or  the  fearful  joy  of  the  next  night, 
when  he  got  three  shillings  from  a  local  publican  for 
a  hare  and  two  rabbits  ? 

But  after  the  first  relief  Minta  had  gone  in  fear  and 
trembling.  For  the  old  Avoodcraft  revived  in  Hurd. 
and  the  old  passion  for  the  fields  and  their  chances 
which  he  had  felt  as  a  lad  before  his  "watcher's" 
place  had  been  made  intolerable  to  him  by  George 
Westall's  bullying.  He  became  excited,  unmanage- 
able. Very  soon  he  was  no  longer  content  with 
Mellor,  where,  since  the  death  of  young  Harold,  the 
heir,  the  keepers  had  been  dismissed,  and  what  re- 
mained of  a  once  numerous  head  of  game  lay  open  to 
the  wiles  of  all  the  bold  spirits  of  the  neighbourhood. 
He  must  needs  go  on  to  those  woods  of  Lord  Max- 
well's, which  girdled  the  Mellor  estate  on  three  sides. 
And  here  he  came  once  more  across  his  enemy.  For 
George  Westall  was  now  in  the  far  better-paid  service 
of  the  Court  —  and  a  very  clever  keeper,  with  de- 
signs on  the  head  keeper's  post  whenever  it  might  be 
vacant.  In  the  case  of  a  poacher  he  had  the  scent  of 
one  of  his  own  hares.  It  was  known  to  him  in  an 
incredibly  short  time  that  that  "low  caselty  fellow 
Hurd"  was  attacking  "his"  game. 

Hurd,  notwithstanding,  was  cunning  itself,  and 
Westall  lay  in  wait  for  him  in  vain.  jMeanwhile,  all 
the  old  hatred  between  the  two  men  revived.  Hurd 
drank  this  winter  more  than  he  had  ever  drunk  yet. 


156  MARCELLA. 

It  was  necessary  to  keep  on  good  terms  witli  one  or 
two  publicans  who  acted  as  "  receivers  "  of  the  poached 
game  of  the  neighbourhood.  And  it  seemed  to  him 
that  Westall  pursued  him  into  these  low  dens.  The 
keeper  —  big,  burly,  prosperous  —  would  speak  to  him 
with  insolent  patronage,  watching  him  all  the  time, 
or  with  the  old  brutality,  which  Hurd  dared  not 
resent.  Only  in  his  excitable  dwarf's  sense  hate 
grew  and  throve,  very  soon  to  monstrous  proportions. 
Westall's  menacing  figure  darkened  all  his  sky  for 
him.  His  poaching,  besides  a  means  of  livelihood, 
became  more  and  more  a  silent  duel  between  him  and 
his  boyhood's  tyrant. 

And  now,  after  seven  months  of  regular  field-work 
and  respectable  living,  it  was  all  to  begin  again  with 
the  new  winter !  The  same  shudders  and  terrors,  the 
same  shames  before  the  gentr}'  and  Mr.  Harden !  — 
the  soft,  timid  woman  with  her  conscience  could  not 
endure  the  prospect.  For  some  weeks  after  the  har- 
vest was  over  she  struggled.  He  had  begun  to  go  out 
again  at  nights.  But  she  drove  him  to  look  for  em- 
ployment, and  lived  in  tears  when  he  failed. 

As  for  him,  she  knew  that  he  was  glad  to  fail; 
there  was  a  certain  ease  and  jauntiness  in  his  air  to- 
night as  he  stood  calling  the  children : 

"  Will !  —  you  come  in  at  once  !    Daisy !  — Nellie !  " 

Two  little  figures  came  pattering  up  the  street  in 
the  moist  October  dusk,  a  third  panted  behind.  The 
girls  ran  in  to  their  mother  chattering  and  laughing. 
Hurd  lifted  the  boy  in  his  arm. 

"Where  you  bin,  Will  ?  What  were  yo  out  for  in 
this  nasty  damp  ?  I've  brought  yo  a  whole  pocket 
full  o'  chestnuts,  and  sum  mat  else  too." 


JMARCELLA.  157 

He  carried  him  in  to  the  fire  and  sat  him  on  his 
knees.  The  little  emaciated  creature,  flushed  with 
the  pleasure  of  his  father's  company,  played  content- 
edly in  the  intervals  of  coughing  with  the  shining 
chestnuts,  or  ate  his  slice  of  the  fine  pear  —  the  gift 
of  a  friend  in  Thame  —  which  proved  to  be  the  "  sum- 
mat  else"  of  promise.  The  curtains  were  close-drawn; 
the  paraffin  lamp  flared  on  the  table,  and  as  the  sa- 
voury smell  of  the  hare  and  onions  on  the  fire  filled 
the  kitchen,  the  whole  family  gathered  round  watch- 
ing for  the  moment  of  eating.  The  fire  played  on  the 
thin  legs  and  pinched  faces  of  the  children  ;  on  the 
baby's  cradle  in  the  further  corner  ;  on  the  mother, 
red-eyed  still,  but  able  to  smile  and  talk  again  ;  on 
the  strange  Celtic  face  and  matted  hair  of  the  dwarf. 
Family  affection  —  and  the  satisfaction  of  the  simpler 
physical  needs  —  these  things  make  the  happiness  of 
the  poor.  For  this  hour,  to-night,  the  Hurds  were 
happy. 

Meanwhile,  in  the  lane  outside,  Marcella,  as  she 
walked  home,  passed  a  tall  broad-shouldered  man  in  a 
velveteen  suit  and  gaiters,  his  gun  over  his  shoulder 
and  two  dogs  behind  him,  his  pockets  bulging  on 
either  side.  He  walked  with  a  kind  of  military  air, 
and  touched  his  cap  to  her  as  he  passed. 

Marcella  barely  nodded. 

"  Tyrant  and  bully  ! "  she  thought  to  herself  with 
Mrs.  Hnrd's  story  in  her  mind.  "  Yet  no  doubt  he 
is  a  valuable  keeper  ;  Lord  Maxwell  would  be  sorry 
to  lose  him!  It  is  the  system  makes  such  men  —  and 
must  have  them." 

The  clatter  of  a  pony  carriage  disturbed  her  thoughts. 


158  MARCELLA. 

A  small,  elderly  lady,  in  a  very  large  musliroom  hat, 
drove  past  her  in  the  dusk  and  bowed  stiffly.  Mar- 
cella  was  so  taken  by  surprise  that  she  barely  returned 
the  bow.  Then  she  looked  after  the  carriage.  That 
was  Miss  Kaeburn. 
To-morrow  ! 


CHAPTER  X. 

"Won't  you  sit  nearer  to  the  window?  We  are 
rather  proud  of  our  view  at  this  time  of  year,"  said 
ISIiss  Raeburn  to  Marcella,  taking  lier  visitor's  jacket 
from  her  as  she  spoke,  and  laying  it  aside.  "Lad}- 
AVinterbourne  is  late,  but  she  will  come,  I  am  sure. 
She  is  very  precise  about  engagements." 

Marcella  moved  lier  chair  nearer  to  the  great  bow- 
window,  and  looked  out  over  the  sloping  gardens  of 
the  Court,  and  the  autumn  splendour  of  the  woods 
girdling  them  in  on  all  sides.  She  held  her  head 
nervously  erect,  was  not  apparently  much  inclined  to 
talk,  and  Miss  Raeburn,  who  had  resumed  her  knit- 
ting within  a  few  paces  of  her  guest,  said  to  herself 
presently  after  a  few  minutes'  conversation  on  the 
weather  and  the  walk  from  Mellor:  "Difficult  — 
decidedly  difficult  —  and  too  much  manner  for  a  young 
girl.  But  the  most  picturesque  creature  I  ever  set 
eyes  on !  " 

Lord  Maxwell's  sister  was  an  excellent  woman,  the 
inquisitive,  benevolent  despot  of  all  the  Maxwell  vil- 
lages; and  one  of  the  soundest  Tories  still  left  to  a 
degenerate  party  and  a  changing  time.  Her  brother 
and  her  great-nephew  represented  to  her  the  flower  of 
liuman  kind;  slie  liad  never  been  capable,  and  prol)- 
ably  never  Avould  be  capable,  of  quarrelling  with 
either  of  them  on  any  subject  wliatever.  At  the  same 
159 


160  MARCELLA. 

time  she  had  her  rights  with  them.  She  was  at  any 
rate  their  natural  guardian  in  those  matters,  relating 
to  womankind,  where  men  are  confessedly  given  to 
folly.  She  had  accordingly  kept  a  shrewd  eye  in 
Aldous's  interest  on  all  the  young  ladies  of  the  neigh- 
bourhood, for  many  3^ears  past;  knew  perfectly  well 
all  that  he  might  have  done,  and  sighed  over  all  that 
he  had  so  far  left  undone. 

At  the  present  moment,  in  spite  of  the  even  good- 
breeding  with  which  she  knitted  and  chattered  beside 
Marcella,  she  was  in  truth  consumed  with  curiosity, 
conjecture,  and  alarm  on  the  subject  of  this  Miss 
Boyce.  Profoundly  as  they  trusted  each  other,  the 
E,aeburns  were  not  on  the  surface  a  communicative 
family.  Neither  her  brother  nor  Aldous  had  so  far 
bestowed  any  direct  confidence  upon  her;  but  the 
course  of  affairs  had,  notwithstanding,  aroused  her 
very  keenest  attention.  In  the  first  place,  as  we 
know,  the  mistress  of  Maxwell  Court  had  left  Mellor 
and  its  new  occupants  unvisited;  she  had  plainly 
understood  it  to  be  her  brother's  wish  that  she  should 
do  so.  How,  indeed,  could  you  know  the  women 
without  knowing  Richard  Boyce?  which,  according  to 
Lord  Maxwell,  was  impossible.  And  now  it  was  Lord 
Maxwell  who  had  suggested  not  only  that  after  all  it 
would  be  kind  to  call  upon  the  poor  things,  who  were 
heavily  weighted  enough  already  with  Dick  Boyce  for 
husband  and  father,  but  that  it  would  be  a  graceful 
act  on  his  sister's  part  to  ask  the  girl  and  her  mother 
to  luncheon.  Dick  Boyce  of  course  must  be  made  to 
keep  his  distance,  but  tlie  resources  of  civilisation 
were  perhaps  not  unequal  to  the  task  of  discriminat- 


MARCELLA.  161 

ing,  if  it  were  prudently  set  about.  At  any  rate  Miss 
Raeburn  gathered  that  she  was  expected  to  try,  and 
instead  of  pressing  her  brother  for  explanations  she 
held  her  tongue,  paid  her  call  forthwith,  and  wrote 
her  note. 

But  although  Aldous,  thinking  no  doubt  that  he 
had  been  already  sufficiently  premature,  had  said 
nothing  at  all  as  to  his  own  feelings  to  his  great-aunt, 
she  knew  perfectly  well  that  he  had  said  a  great  deal 
on  the  subject  of  Miss  Boyce  and  her  mother  to  Lady 
Winterbourne,  the  only  woman  in  the  neighbourhood 
with  whom  he  was  ever  really  confidential.  No 
woman,  of  course,  in  Miss  Kaeburn's  position,  and 
with  Miss  Kaeburn's  general  interest  in  her  kind, 
could  have  been  ignorant  for  any  appreciable  number 
of  days  after  the  Boyces'  arrival  at  Mellor  that  they 
possessed  a  handsome  daughter,  of  whom  the  Hardens 
in  particular  gave  striking  but,  as  Miss  Eaeburn 
privately  thought,  by  no  means  wholly  attractive 
accounts.  And  now,  after  all  these  somewhat  agitat- 
ing preliminaries,  here  was  the  girl  established  in  the 
Court  drawing-room,  Aldous  more  nervous  and  pre- 
occupied than  she  had  ever  seen  him,  and  Lord  Max- 
well expressing  a  particular  anxiety  to  return  from 
his  Board  meeting  in  good  time  for  luncheon,  to  which 
he  had  especially  desired  that  Lady  Winterbourne 
should  be  bidden,  and  no  one  else !  It  may  well  be 
supposed  that  Miss  Eaeburn  was  on  the  alert. 

As  for  Marcella,  she  was  on  her  side  keenly  con- 
scious of  being  observed,  of  having  her  way  to  make. 
Here  she  was  alone  among  these  formidable  people, 
whose  acquaintance  she  had  in  a  manner  compelled. 

VOL.   I. — 11 


162  MARCELLA. 

Well  —  what  blame?  What  was  to  prevent  her  from 
doing  the  same  thing  again  to-morrow?  Her  con- 
science was  absolutely  clear.  If  they  were  not  ready 
to  meet  her  in  the  same  spirit  in  which  through  Mr. 
Raeburn  she  had  approached  them,  she  would  know 
perfectly  well  how  to  protect  herself  —  above  all,  how 
to  live  out  her  life  in  the  future  without  troubling 
them. 

Meanwhile,  in  spite  of  her  dignity  and  those  inward 
propitiations  it  from  time  to  time  demanded,  she  was, 
in  her  human  vivid  way,  full  of  an  excitement  and 
curiosity  she  could  hardly  conceal  as  perfectly  as  she 
desired  —  curiosity  as  to  the  great  house  and  the  life 
in  it,  especially  as  to  Aldous  E/aeburn's  part  therein. 
She  knew  very  little  indeed  of  the  class  to  which  by 
birth  she  belonged;  great  houses  and  great  people 
were  strange  to  her.  She  brought  her  artist's  and 
student's  eyes  to  look  at  them  with;  she  was  deter- 
mined not  to  be  dazzled  or  taken  in  by  them.  At  the 
same  time,  as  she  glanced  every  now  and  then  round 
the  splendid  room  in  which  they  sat,  with  its  Tudor 
ceiling,  its  fine  pictures,  its  combination  of  every 
luxury  with  every  refinement,  she  was  distinctly  con- 
scious of  a  certain  thrill,  a  romantic  drawing  towards 
the  stateliness  and  power  which  it  all  implied,  to- 
gether with  a  proud  and  careless  sense  of  equality,  of 
kinship  so  to  speak,  which  she  made  light  of,  but 
would  not  in  reality  have  been  without  for  the  world. 

In  birth  and  blood  she  had  nothing  to  yield  to  the 
Haeburns  —  so  her  mother  assured  her.  If  things 
were  to  be  vulgarly  measured,  this  fact  too  must  come 
in.     But  they  should  not  be  vulgarly  measured.     She 


MABCELLA.  163 

did  not  believe  in  class  or  wealth  —  not  at  all.     Only 

—  as  her  mother  had  told  her  —  she  must  hold  her 
head  up.  An  inward  temper,  which  no  doubt  led  to 
that  excess  of  manner  of  which  Miss  Kaeburn  was 
meanwhile  conscious. 

Where  were  the  gentlemen?  Marcella  was  begin- 
ning to  resent  and  tire  of  the  innumerable  questions 
as  to  her  likes  and  dislikes,  her  accomplishments,  her 
friends,  her  opinions  of  Mellor  and  the  neighbourhood, 
which  this  knitting  lady  beside  her  poured  out  upon 
her  so  briskly,  wdien  to  her  great  relief  the  door  opened 
and  a  footman  announced  "Lady  Winterbourne." 

A  very  tall  thin  lady  in  black  entered  the  room  at 
the  words.  "My  dear!"  she  said  to  Miss  Eaeburn, 
"I  am  very  late,  but  the  roads  are  abominable,  and 
those  horses  Edward  has  just  given  me  have  to  be 
taken  such  tiresome  care  of.  I  told  the  coachman 
uext  time  he  might  wrap  them  in  shawls  and  put 
them  to  bed,  and  /should  walk.'" 

"You  are  quite  capable  of  it,  my  dear,"  said  Miss 
Raeburn,  kissing  her.     "We  know  you!     Miss  Boyce 

—  Lady  Winterbourne." 

Lady  Winterbourne  shook  hands  with  a  shy  awk- 
wardness which  belied  her  height  and  stateliness.  As 
she  sat  down  beside  Miss  Raeburn  the  contrast  be- 
tween her  and  Lord  ^laxwell's  sister  was  sufficiently 
striking.  Miss  Raeburn  was  short,  inclined  to  be 
stout,  and  to  a  certain  gay  profusion  in  her  attire. 
Her  cap  was  made  of  a  bright  silk  handkerchief  edged 
with  lace;  round  her  neck  were  hung  a  number  of 
small  trinkets  on  various  gold  chains;  slie  abounded 
too    in    bracelets,   most   of   which   were   clearly   old- 


164  MARCELLA. 

fashioned  mementos  of  departed  relatives  or  friends. 
Her  dress  was  a  cheerful  red  verging  on  crimson;  and 
her  general  air  suggested  energy,  bustle,  and  a  good- 
humoured  common  sense. 

Lady  Winter  bourne,  on  the  other  hand,  was  not  only 
dressed  from  head  to  foot  in  severe  black  without  an 
ornament;  her  head  and  face  belonged  also  to  the  same 
impression,  as  of  some  strong  and  forcible  study  in 
black  and  white.  The  attitude  was  rigidly  erect;  the 
very  dark  eyes,  under  the  snowy  and  abundant  hair, 
had  a  trick  of  absent  staring;  in  certain  aspects  the 
whole  figure  had  a  tragic,  nay,  formidable  dignity, 
from  which  one  expected,  and  sometimes  got,  the  tone 
and  gesture  of  tragic  acting.  Yet  at  the  same  time, 
mixed  in  therewith,  a  curious  strain  of  womanish, 
nay  childish,  weakness,  appealingness.  Altogether,  a 
great  lady,  and  a  personality  —  yet  something  else  too 
—  something  ill-assured,  timid,  incongruous  —  hard  to 
be  defined. 

"I  believe  you  have  not  been  at  Mellor  long?"  the 
new-comer  asked,  in  a  deep  contralto  voice  which  she 
dragged  a  little. 

"About  seven  weeks.  My  father  and  mother  have 
been  there  since  May." 

"  You  must  of  course  think  it  a  very  interesting  old 
place  ?  " 

"Of  course  I  do;  I  love  it,"  said  Marcella,  discon- 
certed by  the  odd  habit  Lady  Winterbourne  had  of 
fixing  her  eyes  upon  a  person,  and  then,  as  it  were, 
forgetting  what  she  had  done  with  them. 

"Oh,  I  haven't  been  there,  Agneta,"  said  the  new- 
comer, turning  after  a  pause  to  Miss  Eaeburn,  "since 


MARCELLA.  165 

that  summer  —  yoic  remember  that  party  when  the 
Pahnerstons  came  over  —  so  long  ago  —  twenty  years !  " 

Marcella  sat  stiffly  ui^right.  Lady  Winterbourne 
grew  a  little  nervous  and  flurried. 

''  I  don't  think  I  ever  saw  your  mother,  Miss  Boyce 
—  I  was  much  away  from  home  about  then.  Oh,  yes, 
I  did  once  —  " 

The  sx^eaker  stopped,  a  sudden  red  suffusing  her 
pale  cheeks.  She  had  felt  certain  somehow,  at  sight 
of  Marcella,  that  she  should  say  or  do  something 
untoward,  and  she  had  promptly  justified  her  own 
prevision.  The  only  time  she  had  ever  seen  Mrs. 
Boyce  had  been  in  court,  on  the  last  day  of  the 
famous  trial  in  which  Richard  Boyce  was  concerned, 
when  she  had  made  out  the  wife  sitting  closely  veiled 
as  near  to  her  husband  as  possible,  waiting  for  the 
verdict.  As  she  had  already  confided  this  reminiscence 
to  Miss  Raeburn,  and  had  forgotten  she  had  done  so, 
both  ladies  had  a  moment  of  embarrassment. 

"Mrs.  Boyce,  I  am  sorry  to  say,  does  not  seem  to 
be  strong,"  said  Miss  Raeburn,  bending  over  the  heel 
of  her  stocking.  "I  wish  we  could  have  had  the 
pleasure  of  seeing  her  to-day." 

There  was  a  pause.  Lady  Winterbourne 's  tragic 
eyes  were  once  more  considering  Marcella. 

"I  hope  you  will  come  and  see  me,"  she  said  at  last 
abruptly  —  ''and  Mrs.  Boyce  too." 

The  voice  was  very  soft  and  refined  though  so  deep, 
and  Marcella  looking  up  was  suddenly  magnetised. 

"Yes,  I  will,"  she  said,  all  her  face  melting  into 
sensitive  life.  "]Mamma  won't  go  anywhere,  but  I 
will  come,  if  you  will  ask  me." 


1G6  MARCELLA. 

"  Will  you  come  next  Tuesday?  "  said  Lady  Winter- 
bourne  quickly  —  "  come  to  tea,  and  I  will  drive  you 
back.  Mr.  Kaeburn  told  me  about  you.  He  says  — 
you  read  a  great  deal." 

The  solemnity  of  the  last  words,  the  fixedness  of 
the  tragic  look,  were  not  to  be  resisted.  Marcella 
laughed  out,  and  both  ladies  simultaneously  thought 
her  extraordinarily  radiant  and  handsome. 

"How  can  he  know?  Why,  I  have  hardly  talked 
about  books  to  him  at  all." 

"Well!  here  he  comes,"  said  Lady  Winterbourne, 
smiling  suddenly;  "so  I  can  ask  him.  But  I  am  sure 
he  did  say  so." 

It  was  now  Marcella' s  turn  to  colour.  Aldous  Kae- 
burn crossed  the  room,  greeted  Lady  Winterbourne, 
and  next  moment  she  felt  her  hand  in  his. 

"You  did  tell  me,  Aldous,  didn't  you,"  said  Lady 
Winterbourne,  "that  Miss  Boyce  was  a  great 
reader?" 

The  speaker  had  known  Aldous  Kaeburn  as  a  boy, 
and  Avas,  moreover,  a  sort  of  cousin,  which  explained 
the  Christian  name. 

Aldous  smiled. 

"  I  said  I  thought  Miss  Boyce  was  like  you  and  me, 
and  had  a  weakness  that  way.  Lady  Winterbourne. 
But  I  won't  be  cross-examined!  " 

'•I  don't  think  I  am  a  great  reader,"  said  Marcella, 
bluntly  —  "  at  least  I  read  a  great  deal,  but  I  hardly 
ever  read  a  book  through.     I  haven't  patience." 

"You  want  to  get  at  everything  so  quickly?"  said 
Miss  Kaeburn,  looking  up  sharply. 

"I  suppose  so!"  said  Marcella.     "There  seems  to 


MA  B  CELL  A.  1G7 

be  always  a  hundred  things  tearing  one  different  waj^s, 
and  no  time  for  any  of  them." 

"Yes,  when  one  is  young  one  feels  like  that,"  said 
Lady  Winterbourne,  sighing.  ''When  one  is  old  one 
accepts  one's  limitations.  When  I  was  twenty  I  never 
thought  that  I  should  still  be  an  ignorant  and  discon- 
tented woman  at  nearly  seventy." 

''  It  is  because  you  are  so  young  still,  Lady  Winter- 
bourne,  that  you  feel  so,"  said  Aldous,  laughing  at 
her,  as  one  does  at  an  old  friend.  "Why,  you  are 
younger  than  any  of  us  I  I  feel  all  brushed  and  stirred 
up  —  a  boy  at  school  again  —  after  I  have  been  to  see 
you!" 

"Well,  I  don't  know  what  you  mean,  I'm  sure," 
said  Lady  Winterbourne,  sighing  again.  Then  she 
looked  at  the  pair  beside  her  —  at  the  alert  brightness 
in  the  man's  strong  and  quiet  face  as  he  sat  stooping 
forward,  with  his  hands  upon  his  knees,  hardly  able 
to  keep  his  eyes  for  an  instant  from  the  dark  appari- 
tion beside  him  —  at  the  girl's  evident  shyness  and 
pride. 

"  My  dear ! "  she  said,  turning  suddenly  to  Miss 
Raeburn,  "have  you  heard  what  a  monstrosity  Alice 
has  |)roduced  this  last  time  in  the  way  of  a  baby?  It 
was  born  with  four  teeth !  " 

Miss  Eaeburn's  astonishment  fitted  the  provocation, 
and  the  two  old  friends  fell  into  a  gossip  on  the  sub- 
ject of  Lady  Winterbourne's  numerous  family,  which 
was  clearly  meant  for  a  t^te-cl-tete. 

"Will  you  come  and  look  at  our  tapestry?"  said 
Aldous  to  his  neighbour,  after  a  few  nothings  had 
passed  between  them  as  to  the  weather  and  her  walk 


168  MARCELLA. 

from  Mellor.  "I  think  you  would  admire  it,  and  I 
am  afraid  my  grandfather  will  be  a  few  minutes  yet. 
He  hoped  to  get  home  earlier  than  this,  but  his  Board 
meeting  was  very  long  and  important,  and  has  kept 
him  an  unconscionable  time." 

Marcella  rose,  and  they  moved  together  towards  the 
south  end  of  the  room  where  a  famous  piece  of  Italian 
Renaissance  tapestry  entirely  filled  the  wall  from  side 
to  side. 

"  How  beautiful ! "  cried  the  girl,  her  eyes  filling 
with  delight.     "What  a  delicious  thing  to  live  with." 

And,  indeed,  it  was  the  most  adorable  medley  of 
forms,  tints,  suggestions,  of  gods  and  goddesses, 
nymphs  and  shepherds,  standing  in  flowery  grass 
under  fruit-laden  trees  and  wreathed  about  with  roses. 
Both  colour  and  subject  were  of  fairyland.  The  golds 
and  browns  and  pinks  of  it,  the  greens  and  ivory 
whites  had  been  mellowed  and  pearled  and  warmed  by 
age  into  a  most  glowing,  delicate,  and  fanciful  beauty. 
It  was  Italy  at  the  great  moment  —  subtle,  rich, 
exuberant. 

Aldous  enjoyed  her  pleasure. 

"  I  thought  you  would  like  it ;  I  hoped  you  would. 
It  has  been  my  special  delight  since  I  was  a  child, 
when  my  mother  first  routed  it  out  of  a  garret.  I 
am  not  sure  that  I  don't  in  my  heart  prefer  it  to  any 
of  the  pictures." 

'■  The  flowers !  "  said  Marcella,  absorbed  in  it  — 
"look  at  them  —  the  irises,  the  cyclamens,  the  lilies! 
It  reminds  one  of  the  dreams  one  used  to  have  when 
one  was  small  of  what  it  would  be  like  to  have^0M;e?*s 
enough.     I  was  at  school,  you  know,  in  a  part  of  Eng- 


MABCELLA.  169 

land  where  one  seemed  always  cheated  out  of  them! 
We  walked  two  and  two  along  the  straight  roads,  and 
I  found  one  here  and  one  there  —  but  such  a  beggarly, 
wretched  few,  for  all  one's  trouble.  I  used  to  hate 
the  hard  dry  soil,  and  console  myself  by  imagining 
countries  where  the  flowers  grew  like  this  —  yes,  just 
like  this,  in  a  gold  and  pink  and  blue  mass,  so  that  one 
might  thrust  one's  hands  in  and  gather  and  gather  till 
one  was  really  satisfied!  That  is  the  worst  of  being 
at  school  when  you  are  poor!  You  never  get  enough 
of  anything.  One  day  it's  flowers  —  but  the  next  day 
it  is  pudding  —  and  the  next  frocks." 

Her  eye  was  sparkling,  her  tongue  loosened.  Xot 
only  was  it  pleasant  to  feel  herself  beside  him,  en- 
wrapped in  such  an  atmosphere  of  admiration  and 
deference,  but  the  artistic  sensitive  chord  in  her  had 
been  struck,  and  vibrated  happil}^ 

"  Well,  only  wait  till  May,  and  the  cowslips  in  your 
own  fields  will  make  up  to  you !  "  he  said,  smiling  at 
her.  "  But  now,  I  have  been  wondering  to  myself  in 
my  room  upstairs  what  jow  would  like  to  see.  There 
are  a  good  many  treasures  in  this  house,  and  you  will 
care  for  them,  because  you  are  an  artist.  But  you 
shall  not  be  bored  with  them!  You  shall  see  what 
and  as  much  as  you  like.  You  had  about  a  quarter  of 
an  hour's  talk  with  my  aunt,  did  you  not?"  he  asked, 
in  a  quite  different  tone. 

So  all  the  time  while  she  and  Miss  Eaeburn  had 
been  making  acquaintance,  he  had  known  that  she  was 
in  the  house,  and  he  had  kept  away  for  his  own  pur- 
poses !  Marcella  felt  a  colour  she  could  not  restrain 
leap  into  her  cheek. 


170  MARC  ELLA. 

"Miss  Raeburn  was  very  kind,"  she  said,  with  a 
return  of  shyness,  which  passed  however  the  next 
moment  by  reaction,  into  her  usual  daring.  "  Yes,  she 
was  very  kind!  — but  all  the  same  she  doesn't  like  me 
—  I  don't  think  she  is  going  to  like  me  —  I  am  not 
her  sort." 

"Have  you  been  talking  Socialism  to  her?"  he 
asked  her,  smiling. 

"No,  not  yet  —  not  yet,"  she  said  emphatically. 
"  But  I  am  dreadfully  uncertain  —  I  can't  always  hold 
my  tongue  —  I  am  afraid  you  will  be  sorry  you  took 
me  up." 

'•'Are  you  so  aggressive?  But  Aunt  Xeta  is  so 
mild!  —  she  wouldn't  hurt  a  fly.  She  mothers  every 
one  in  the  house  and  out  of  it.  The  only  people  she 
is  hard  upon  are  the  little  servant  girls,  who  will  wear 
feathers  in  their  hats !  " 

"  There !  "  cried  Marcella,  indignantly.  "  Why 
shouldn't  they  wear  feathers  in  their  hats?  It  is 
their  form  of  beauty  —  their  tapestry !  " 

"But  if  one  can't  have  both  feathers  and  boots?" 
he  asked  her  humbly,  a  twinkle  in  his  grey  eye.  "  If 
one  hasn't  boots,  one  may  catch  a  cold  and  die  of  it  — 
which  is,  after  all,  worse  than  going  featherless." 

''But  why  can^t  they  have  feathers  and  boots?  It 
is  because  you  —  we  —  have  got  too  much.  You  have 
the  tapestry  —  and  —  and  the  pictures  "  —  she  turned 
and  looked  round  the  room  —  ''and  this  wonderful 
house  —  and  the  park.  Oh,  no  —  I  think  it  is  Miss 
Raeburn  has  too  many  feathers !  " 

"Perhaps  it  is,"  he  admitted,  in  a  different  tone,  his 
look  changiug  and  saddening  as  though  some  habitual 


MARCELLA.  171 

struggle  of  thought  were  recalled  to  him.  "You  see 
I  am  in  a  difficulty.  I  want  to  show  you  our  feathers. 
I  think  they  would  please  you  —  and  you  make  me 
ashamed  of  them.-' 

"How  absurd  I"  cried  Marcella,  "when  I  told  you 
how  I  liked  the  school  children  bobbing  to  me ! '' 

They  laughed,  and  then  Aldous  looked  round  with 
a  start  —  "Ah,  here  is  my  grandfather! '' 

Then  he  stood  back,  watching  the  look  with  which 
Lord  Maxwell,  after  greeting  Lady  Winterbourne, 
approached  Miss  Boyce.  He  saw  the  old  man's  some- 
what formal  approach,  the  sudden  kindle  in  the  blue 
eyes  which  marked  the  first  effect  of  Marcella' s  form 
and  presence,  the  bow,  the  stately  shake  of  the  hand. 
The  lover  hearing  his  own  heart  beat,  realised  that  his 
beautiful  lady  had  so  far  done  well. 

"  You  must  let  me  say  that  I  see  a  decided  likeness 
in  you  to  3'our  grandfather, "  said  Lord  Maxwell,  when 
they  were  all  seated  at  lunch,  Marcella  on  his  left 
hand,  opposite  to  Lady  Winterbourne.  ''He  was  one 
of  my  dearest  friends." 

"I'm  afraid  I  don't  know  much  about  him,"  said 
Marcella,  rather  bluntly,  "  except  what  I  have  got  out 
of  old  letters.     I  never  saw  him  that  I  remember." 

Lord  Maxwell  left  the  subject,  of  course,  at  once, 
but  showed  a  great  wish  to  talk  to  her,  and  make  her 
talk.  He  had  pleasant  things  to  say  about  Mellor 
and  its  past,  which  could  be  said  without  offence ;  and 
some  conversation  about  the  Boyce  monuments  in 
Mellor  church  led  to  a  discussion  of  the  part  played 
by  the  different  local  families  in  the  Civil  Wars,  in 
which  it  seemed  to  Aldous  that  his  grandfatlier  tried 


172  MABCELLA. 

in  various  shrewd  and  coiirteons  ways  to  make  Mar.- 
cella  feel  at  ease  with  herself  and  her  race,  accepted, 
as  it  were,  of  right  into  the  local  brotherhood,  and  so 
to  soothe  and  heal  those  bruised  feelings  he  could  not 
but  divine. 

The  girl  carried  herself  a  little  loftily,  answering 
with  an  independence  and  freedom  beyond  her  age  and 
born  of  her  London  life.  She  was  not  in  the  least 
abashed  or  shy.  Yet  it  was  clear  that  Lord  Max- 
well's first  impressions  were  favourable.  Aldous 
caught  every  now  and  then  his  quick,  judging  look 
sweeping  over  her  and  instantly  withdrawn  —  com- 
paring, as  the  grandson  very  well  knew,  every  point, 
and  tone,  and  gesture  with  some  inner  ideal  of  what  a 
Raeburn's  wife  should  be.  How  dream-like  the  whole 
scene  was  to  Aldous,  yet  how  exquisitely  real !  The 
room,  with  its  carved  and  gilt  cedar-wood  panels,  its 
Vandykes,  its  tall  windows  opening  on  the  park,  the 
autumn  sun  flooding  the  gold  and  purple  fruit  on  the 
table,  and  sparkling  on  the  glass  and  silver,  the  figures 
of  his  aunt  and  Lady  Winterbourne,  the  moving  ser- 
vants, and  dominant  of  it  all,  interpreting  it  all  for 
him  anew,  the  dark,  lithe  creature  beside  his  grand- 
father, so  quick,  sensitive,  extravagant,  so  much  a 
woman,  yet,  to  his  lover's  sense,  so  utterly  unlike  au}^ 
other  woman  he  had  ever  seen  —  every  detail  of  it  was 
charged  to  him  with  a  thousand  new  meanings,  now 
oppressive,  now  delightful. 

For  he  was  x^assing  out  of  the  first  stage  of  passion, 
in  which  it  is,  almost,  its  own  satisfaction,  so  new 
and  enriching  is  it  to  the  whole  nature,  into  the  second 
stage  —  the  stage  of  anxiety,  incredulity.     Marcella, 


MARCELLA.  173 

sitting  there  on  his  own  ground,  after  all  his  planning, 
seemed  to  him  not  nearer,  but  further  from  him.  She 
was  terribly  on  her  dignity!  Where  was  all  that 
girlish  abandonment  gone  which  she  had  shown  him 
on  that  walk,  beside  the  gate?  There  had  been  a 
touch  of  it,  a  divine  touch,  before  luncheon.  How 
could  he  get  her  to  himself  again? 

Meanwhile  the  conversation  passed  to  the  prevailing 
local  topic  —  the  badness  of  the  harvest,  the  low 
prices  of  everything,  the  consequent  depression  among 
the  farmers,  and  stagnation  in  the  villages. 

"  I  don't  know  what  is  to  be  done  for  the  people 
this  winter,"  said  Lord  Maxwell,  "without  pauj)eris- 
ing  them,  I  mean.  To  give  money  is  easy  enough. 
Our  grandfathers  would  have  doled  out  coal  and 
blankets,  and  thought  no  more  of  it.  We  don't  get 
through  so  easily." 

"No,"  said  Lady  Winterbourne,  sighing.  "It 
weighs  one  down.  Last  winter  was  a  nightmare. 
The  tales  one  heard,  and  the  faces  one  saw !  —  though 
we  seemed  to  be  always  giving.  And  in  the  middle 
of  it  Edward  would  buy  me  a  new  set  of  sables.  I 
begged  him  not,  but  he  laughed  at  me." 

"Well,  my  dear,"  said  Miss  Eaeburn,  cheerfully, 
"if  nobody  bought  sables,  there'd  be  other  poor 
people  up  in  Russia,  isn't  it?  —  or  Hudson's  Bay? 
—  badly  off.  One  has  to  think  of  that.  Oh,  you 
needn't  talk,  Aldous!  I  know  you  say  it's  a  fallacy. 
/call  it  common  sense." 

She  got,  however,  only  a  slight  smile  from  Aldous, 
who  had  long  ago  left  his  great-aunt  to  work  out 
her  own  economics.     And,  anyway,  she  saw  that  he 


174  MARCELLA. 

was  wholly  absorbed  from  his  seat  beside  Lady 
Winterbourne  in  watching  Miss  Boyce. 

"It's  precisely  as  Lord  Maxwell  says,"  replied 
Lady  Winterbourne;  "that  kind  of  thing  used  to 
satisfy  everybody.  And  our  grandmothers  were  very 
good  women.  I  don't  know  why  we,  who  give  our- 
selves so  much  more  trouble  than  they  did,  should 
carry  these  thorns  about  with  us,  while  they  went 
free." 

She  drew  herself  up,  a  cloud  over  her  fine  eyes. 
Miss  Eaeburn,  looking  round,  was  glad  to  see  the 
servants  had  left  the  room. 

"  Miss  Boyce  thinks  we  are  all  in  a  very  bad  way, 
I'm  sure.  I  have  heard  tales  of  Miss  Boyce's  opin- 
ions ! "  said  Lord  Maxwell,  smiling  at  her,  with  an 
old  man's  indulgence,  as  though  provoking  her  to 
talk. 

Her  slim  fingers  were  nervously  crumbling  some 
bread  beside  her;  her  head  was  drooped  a  little.  At 
his  challenge  she  looked  up  Avith  a  start.  She  was 
perfectly  conscious  of  him,  as  both  the  great  magnate 
on  his  native  heath,  and  as  the  trained  man  of  affairs 
condescending  to  a  girl's  fancies.  But  she  had  made 
up  her  mind  not  to  be  afraid. 

"What  tales  have  you  heard?"  she  asked  him. 

"You  alarm  us,  you  know,"  he  said  gallantly,  waiv- 
ing her  question.  "We  can't  afford  a  prophetess  to 
the  other  side,  just  now." 

Miss  Raeburn  drew^  herself  up,  wdth  a  sharp  dry 
look  at  Miss  Boyce,  which  escaped  every  one  but 
Lady  Winterbourne. 

"Oil!  1  am  not  a  Radical!"  said   Marcella,   half 


MAECELLA.  175 

scornfully.  "We  Socialists  don't  fight  for  either 
political  party  as  such.  We  take  what  we  can  get  out 
of  both." 

"So  you  call  yourself  a  Socialist?  A  real  full- 
blown one?" 

Lord  Maxwell's  pleasant  tone  masked  the  mood  of 
a  man  who  after  a  morning  of  hard  work  thinks  him- 
self entitled  to  some  amusement  at  luncheon. 

"Yes,  I  am  a  Socialist,"  she  said  slowly,  looking 
at  him.  "  At  least  I  ought  to  be  —  I  am  in  my  con- 
science." 

"But  not  in  your  judgment?"  he  said  laughing. 
"Isn't  that  the  condition  of  most  of  us?" 

"USTo,  not  at  all!"  she  exclaimed,  both  her  vanity 
and  her  enthusiasm  roused  by  his  manner.  "Both 
my  judgment  and  ni}*  conscience  make  me  a  Socialist. 
It's  only  one's  wretched  love  for  one's  own  little 
luxuries  and  precedences  —  the  worst  part  of  one  — 
that  makes  me  waver,  makes  me  a  traitor!  The  peo- 
ple I  worked  with  in  London  would  think  me  a  traitor 
often,  I  know." 

"  And  you  really  think  that  the  world  ought  to  be 
'hatched  over  again  and  hatched  different'?  That  it 
ought  to  be,  if  it  could  be?  " 

"I  think  that  things  are  intolerable  as  they  are," 
she  broke  out,  after  a  pause.  "  The  London  poor  \vere 
bad  enough;  the  country  poor  seem  to  me  worse! 
How  can  any  one  believe  that  such  serfdom  and  pov- 
erty—  such  mutilation  of  mind  and  body  —  were 
meant  to  go  on  for  ever!  " 

Lord  Maxwell's  brows  lifted,  l^ut  it  certainly  was 
no  wonder  that  Aldous  should  find  those  eyes  of  hers 
superb? 


176  MARC  ELL  A. 

"Can  you  really  imagine,  my  dear  young  lady,"  he 
asked  her  mildly,  "  that  if  all  property  were  divided 
to-morrow  the  force  of  natural  inequality  would  not 
have  undone  all  the  work  the  day  after,  and  given  us 
back  our  poor?" 

The  "  newspaper  cant "  of  this  remark,  as  the  Cra- 
vens would  have  put  it,  brought  a  contemptuous  look 
for  an  instant  into  the  girl's  face.  She  began  to  talk 
eagerly  and  cleverly,  showing  a  very  fair  training  in 
the  catch  words  of  the  school,  and  a  good  memory  — • 
as  one  uncomfortable  person  at  the  table  soon  per- 
ceived —  for  some  of  the  leading  arguments  and  illus- 
trations of  a  book  of  Venturist  Essays  which  had 
lately  been  much  read  and  talked  of  in  London. 

Then,  irritated  more  and  more  by  Lord  Maxwell's 
gentle  attention,  and  the  interjections  he  threw  in 
from  time  to  time,  she  plunged  into  history,  attacked 
the  landowning  class,  spoke  of  the  Statute  of  La- 
bourers, the  Law  of  Settlement,  the  New  Poor  Law, 
and  other  great  matters,  all  in  the  same  quick  flow  of 
glancing,  picturesque  speech,  and  all  with  the  same 
utter  oblivion  —  so  it  seemed  to  her  stiff  indignant 
hostess  at  the  other  end  of  the  table  —  of  the  manners 
and  modesty  proper  to  a  young  girl  in  a  strange 
house,  and  that  young  girl  Eichard  Boyce's  daughter! 

Aldous  struck  in  uoav  and  then,  trying  to  soothe  her 
by  supporting  her  to  a  certain  extent,  and  so  divert 
the  conversation.  But  Marcella  was  soon  too  excited 
to  be  managed ;  and  she  had  her  say ;  a  very  strong 
say  often  as  far  as  language  went :  there  could  be  no 
doubt  of  that. 

"Ah,  well,"  said   Lord   Maxwell,   wincing  at  last 


MAKCELLA.  177 

under  some  of  her  phrases,  in  spite  of  his  courteous 
savoir-faire,  "  I  see  you  are  of  the  same  opinion  as  a 
good  man  whose  book  I  took  up  yesterday:  'The 
landlords  of  England  have  always  shown  a  mean  and 
malignant  passion  for  profiting  by  the  miseries  of 
others?'  Well,  Aldous,  my  boy,  we  are  judged,  you 
and  I  —  no  help  for  it !  " 

The  man  whose  temper  and  rule  had  made  the 
prosperity  of  a  whole  country  side  for  nearly  forty 
years,  looked  at  his  grandson  with  twinkling  eyes. 
Miss  Eaeburn  was  speechless.  Lady  Winterbourne 
was  absently  staring  at  Marcella,  a  spot  of  red  on 
each  pale  cheek. 

Then  Marcella  suddenly  wavered,  looked  across  at 
Aldous,  and  broke  down. 

"Of  course,  you  think  me  very  ridiculous,"  she 
said,  with  a  tremulous  change  of  tone.  "  I  suppose  I 
am.  And  I  am  as  inconsistent  as  anybody  —  I  hate 
myself  for  it.  Very  often  when  anybody  talks  to  me 
on  the  other  side,  I  am  almost  as  much  persuaded  as 
I  am  by  the  Socialists :  they  always  told  me  in  Lon- 
don I  was  the  prey  of  the  last  speaker.  But  it  can't 
make  any  difference  to  one's  feeling :  nothing  touches 
that." 

She  turned  to  Lord  ^laxwell,  half  appealing  — 

"  It  is  when  I  go  down  from  our  house  to  the  vil- 
lage; when  I  see  the  places  the  people  live  in;  when 
one  is  comfortable  in  the  carriage,  and  one  passes 
some  woman  in  the  rain,  ragged  and  dirty  and  tired, 
trudging  back  from  her  work;  when  one  realises  that 
they  have  no  rights  when  they  come  to  be  old,  nothing 
to  look  to  but  charity,  for  which  ice,  who  have  every- 

VOL.    I. — 12 


178  MARCELLA. 

tiling,  expect  them  to  be  grateful ;  and  when  I  know 
that  every  one  of  them  has  done  more  useful  work  in 
a  year  of  their  life  than  I  shall  ever  do  in  the  whole 
of  mine,  then  I  feel  that  the  whole  state  of  things  is 
someJioiv  wrong  and  topsy-turvy  and  wicked."  Her 
voice  rose  a  little,  every  emphasis  grew  more  passion- 
ate. "And  if  I  don't  do  something  —  the  little  such 
a  person  as  I  can  —  to  alter  it  before  I  die,  I  might 
as  w^ell  never  have  lived." 

Everybody  at  table  started.  Lord  Maxwell  looked 
at  Miss  Raeburn,  his  mouth  twitching  over  the 
humour  of  his  sister's  dismay.  Well!  this  was  a 
forcible  young  woman :  was  Aldous  the  kind  of  man 
to  be  able  to  deal  conveniently  with  such  eyes,  such 
emotions,  such  a  personality? 

Suddenly  Lady  Winterbourne's  deep  voice  broke  in: 

"I  never  could  say  it  half  so  well  as  that,  Miss 
Boyce ;  but  I  agree  with  you.  I  may  say  that  I  have 
agreed  with  you  all  my  life." 

The  girl  turned  to  her,  grateful  and  quivering. 

"At  the  same  time,"  said  Lady  Winterbourne, 
relapsing  with  a  long  breath  from  tragic  emphasis 
into  a  fluttering  indecision  equally  characteristic,  "  as 
you  say,  one  is  inconsistent.  I  was  poor  once,  before 
Edward  came  to  the  title,  and  I  did  not  at  all  like 
it  —  not  at  all.  And  I  don't  wish  my  daughters  to 
marry  poor  men ;  and  what  I  should  do  without  a  maid 
or  a  carriage  when  I  wanted  it,  I  cannot  imagine. 
Edward  makes  the  most  of  these  things.  He  tells  me 
I  have  to  choose  between  things  as  they  are,  and  a 
graduated  income  tax  which  would  leave  nobody  — 
not  even  the  richest  —  more  than  four  hundred  a 
year." 


MARCELLA.  179 

"  Just  enough  for  one  of  those  little  houses  on  your 
station  road,"  said  Lord  Maxwell,  laughing  at  her. 
"I  think  you  might  still  have  a  maid." 

"There,  you  laugh,"  said  Lady  Winterbourne, 
vehemently:  ''the  men  do.  But  I  tell  you  it  is  no 
laughing  matter  to  feel  that  your  Jieart  and  conscience 
have  gone  over  to  the  enemy.  You  want  to  feel  with 
your  class,  and  you  can't.  Think  of  what  used  to 
happen  in  the  old  days.  My  grandmother,  who  was 
as  good  and  kind  a  woman  as  ever  lived,  was  driving 
home  through  our  village  one  evening,  and  a  man 
passed  her,  a  labourer  who  was  a  little  drunk,  and 
who  did  not  take  off  his  hat  to  her.  She  stopped, 
made  her  men  get  down  and  had  him  put  in  the  stocks 
there  and  then  —  the  old  stocks  Avere  still  standing  on 
the  village  green.  Then  she  drove  home  to  her  din- 
ner, and  said  her  prayers  no  doubt  that  night  with 
more  consciousness  than  usual  of  having  done  her 
duty.  But  if  the  power  of  the  stocks  still  remained 
to  us,  my  dear  friend"  —  and  she  laid  her  thin  old 
woman's  hand,  flashing  with  diamonds,  on  Lord  Max- 
well's arm  —  ''we  could  no  longer  do  it,  you  or,  I. 
"We  have  lost  the  sense  of  right  in  our  place  and  posi- 
tion —  at  least  I  find  I  have.  In  the  old  days  if  there 
was  social  disturbance  the  upper  class  could  put  it 
down  with  a  strong  hand." 

"  So  they  would  still, "  said  Lord  Maxwell,  drily,  "  if 
there  were  violence.  Once  let  it  come  to  any  real 
attack  on  property,  and  you  will  see  where  all  these 
Socialist  theories  will  bo.  x\.nd  of  course  it  will  not 
be  we  —  not  the  landowners  or  the  capitalists  —  who 
will  put  it  down.     It  will  be  the  hundreds  and  tliou- 


180  MABCELLA, 

sands  of  people  with  something  to  lose  —  a  few 
pounds  in  a  joint-stock  mill,  a  house  of  their  own 
built  through  a  co-operative  store,  an  acre  or  two  of 
land  stocked  by  their  own  savings  —  it  is  they,  I  am 
afraid,  Avho  will  put  ^liss  Eoyce's  friends  down  so  far 
as  they  represent  any  real  attack  on  property  —  and 
brutally,  too,  I  fear,  if  need  be." 

"  I  dare  say, "  exclaimed  Marcella,  her  colour  rising 
again.  "  I  never  can  see  how  we  Socialists  are  to 
succeed.  But  how  can  any  one  rejoice  in  it?  How 
can  any  one  loish  that  the  present  state  of  things 
should  go  on?  Oh!  the  horrors  one  sees  in  London. 
And  down  here,  the  cottages,  and  the  starvation 
wages,  and  the  ridiculous  worship  of  game,  and  then, 
of  course,  the  poaching  —  " 

Miss  Raeburn  pushed  back  her  chair  with  a  sharp 
noise.  But  her  brother  was  still  peeling  his  pear,  and 
no  one  else  moved.  Why  did  he  let  such  talk  go  on? 
It  was  too  unseemly. 

Lord  Maxwell  only  laughed.  ^ '  My  dear  young  lady, " 
he  said,  much  amused,  "are  you  even  in  the  frame  of 
mind  to  make  a  hero  of  a  poacher?  Disillusion  lies 
that  way !  —  it  does  indeed.  Why  —  Aldous !  —  I 
have  been  hearing  such  tales  from  Westall  this  morn- 
ing. I  stopped  at  Corbett's  farm  a  minute  or  two  on 
the  way  home,  and  met  Westall  at  the  gate  coming 
out.  He  says  he  and  his  men  are  being  harried  to 
death  round  about  Tudley  End  by  a  gang  of  men  that 
come,  he  thinks,  from  Oxford,  a  driving  gang  with  a 
gig,  who  come  at  night  or  in  the  early  morning  —  the 
smartest  rascals  out,  impossible  to  catch.  But  he 
says  he  thinks  he  will  soon  have  his  hand  on  the  local 


MARCELLA,  181 

accomplice  —  a  Mellor  man  —  a  man  named  Hurd  : 
not  one  of  our  labourers,  I  tliink." 

^^Hurd!"  cried  Marcella,  in  dismay.  '^  Oil  no,  it 
caii't  be  —  im^^jossible !  " 

Lord  Maxwell  looked  at  lier  in  astonishment. 

^^Do  you  know  any  Hurds?  I  am  afraid  your 
father  will  find  that  Mellor  is  a  bad  place  for  poach- 
ing." 

"If  it  is,  it  is  because  they  are  so  starved  and 
miserable,"  said  Marcella,  trying  hard  to  speak 
coolly,  but  excited  almost  beyond  bounds  by  the  con- 
versation and  all  that  it  implied.  "  And  the  Hurds 
—  I  don't  believe  it  a  bit !  But  if  it  were  true  —  oh ! 
they  have  been  in  such  straits  —  they  were  out  of 
work  most  of  last  winter;  they  are  out  of  work  now. 
No  one  could  grudge  them.  I  told  you  about  them, 
didn't  I?  "  she  said,  suddenly  glancing  at  Aldous.  ^'l 
was  going  to  ask  you  to-day,  if  you  could  help  them?  " 
Her  prophetess  air  had  altogether  left  her.  She  felt 
ready  to  cry;  and  nothing  could  have  been  more 
womanish  than  her  tone. 

He  bent  across  to  her.  Miss  Kaeburn,  invaded  by 
a  new  and  intolerable  sense  of  calamity,  could  have 
beaten  him  for  what  she  read  in  his  shining  eyes,  and 
in  the  flush  on  his  usually  pale  cheek. 

"  Is  he  still  out  of  work?  "  he  said.  "  And  you  are 
unhappy  about  it?  But  I  am  sure  we  can  find  him 
work :  I  am  just  now  planning  improvements  at  the 
north  end  of  the  park.  We  can  take  him  on;  I  am 
certain  of  it.  You  must  give  me  his  full  name  and 
address." 

"And  let  him  beware  of  Westall,"  said  Lord  Max- 


182  MA  Pi  CELL  A. 

well,  kindly.  "Give  him  a  hint,  Miss  Boyce,  and 
nobody  will  rake  up  bygones.  There  is  nothing  1 
dislike  so  much  as  rows  about  the  shooting.  All 
the  keepers  know  that." 

"And  of  course,"  said  Miss  Eaeburn,  coldly,  "if 
the  family  are  in  real  distress  there  are  plenty  of 
people  at  hand  to  assist  them.  The  man  need  not 
steal." 

"Oh,  charity!"  cried  Marcella,  her  lip  curling. 

"A  worse  crime  than  poaching,  you  think,"  said 
Lord  Maxwell,  laughing.  "Well,  these  are  big  sub- 
jects. I  confess,  after  my  morning  with  the  lunatics, 
1  am  half  inclined,  like  Horace  Walpole,  to  think 
everything  serious  ridiculous.  At  any  rate  shall  we 
see  what  liglit  a  cup  of  coffee  throws  upon  if/  Agneta, 
shall  we  adjourn?  " 


CHAPTER   XI. 

Lord  Maxwell  closed  the  drawing-room  door  be- 
hind Aldous  and  Marcella.  Aldous  had  proposed  to 
take  their  guest  to  see  the  picture  gallery,  which  was 
on  the  first  floor,  and  had  found  her  willing. 

The  old  man  came  back  to  the  two  other  women, 
running  his  hand  nervously  through  his  shock  of  white 
hair  —  a  gesture  which  Miss  Eaeburn  well  knew  to 
show  some  disturbance  of  mind. 

"  I  should  like  to  have  your  opinion  of  that  young 
lady,"  he  said  deliberately,  taking  a  chair  immediately 
in  front  of  them. 

"I  like  her,"  said  Lady  Winterbourne,  instantly. 
"  Of  course  she  is  crude  and  extravagant,  and  does  not 
know  quite  what  she  may  say.  But  all  that  will 
improve.  I  like  her,  and  shall  make  friends  with 
her." 

]Miss  Eaeburn  threw  up  her  hands  in  angry  amaze- 
ment. 

"Most  forward,  conceited,  and  ill-mannered,"  she 
said  with  energy.  '•  I  am  certain  she  has  no  proper 
principles,  and  as  to  what  her  religious  views  may  be, 
I  dread  to  think  of  them !  If  that  is  a  specimen  of 
the  girls  of  the  present  day —  " 

"My  dear,"  interrupted  Lord  Maxwell,  laying  a 
hand   on   her   knee,  "Lady  Winterbourne   is  an  old 

183 


184  MARCELLA. 

friend,  a  very  old  friend.  I  think  we  may  be  frank 
before  her,  and  I  don't  wish  you  to  say  things  you  may 
regret.  Aldous  has  made  up  his  mind  to  get  that  girl 
to  marry  him,  if  he  can." 

Lady  Winterbourne  was  silent,  having  in  fact  been 
forewarned  by  that  odd  little  interview  with  Aldous  in 
her  own  drawing-room,  when  he  had  suddenly  asked 
her  to  call  on  Mrs.  Bojce.  But  she  looked  at  Miss 
Eaeburn.  That  lady  took  up  her  knitting,  laid  it 
down  again,  resumed  it,  then  broke  out  — 

"  How  did  it  come  about  ?  Where  have  they  been 
meeting?" 

"At  the  Hardens  mostly.  He  seems  to  have 
been  struck  from  the  beginning,  and  now  there  is 
no  question  as  to  his  determination.  But  she  may 
not  have  him ;  he  professes  to  be  still  entirely  in  the 
dark." 

"  Oh  !  "  cried  Miss  Eaeburn,  with  a  scornful  shrug, 
meant  to  express  all  possible  incredulity.  Then  she 
began  to  knit  fast  and  furiously,  and  presently  said  in 
great  agitation,  — 

"  What  can  he  be  thinking  of  ?  She  is  very  hand- 
some, of  course,  but  — "  then  her  words  failed  her. 
"When  Aldous  remembers  his  mother,  how  can  he  ?  — 
undisciplined  !  self-willed !  Why,  she  laid  down  the 
law  to  you,  Henry,  as  though  you  had  nothing  to  do 
but  to  take  your  opinions  from  a  chit  of  a  girl  like  her. 
Oh  !  no,  no ;  I  really  can't ;  you  must  give  me  time. 
And  her  father  —  the  disgrace  and  trouble  of  it !  I  tell 
you,  Henry,  it  will  bring  misfortune !  "' 

Lord  Maxwell  was  much  troubled.  Certainly  he 
should  have  talked  to  Agneta  beforehand.     But  the 


MARCELLA.  185 

fact  was  he  had  his  co^Ya^dice,  like  other  men,  and  he 
had  been  trusting  to  the  girl  herself,  to  this  beauty  he 
heard  so  much  of,  to  soften  the  first  shock  of  the 
matter  to  the  present  mistress  of  the  Court. 

'•We  will  hope  not,  Agneta,"  he  said  gravely. 
"We  will  hope  not.  But*  you  must  remember  Aldous 
is  no  boy.  I  cannot  coerce  him.  I  see  the  difficulties, 
and  I  have  put  them  before  him.  But  I  am  more 
favourably  struck  with  the  girl  than  3'ou  are.  And  any- 
way, if  it  comes  about,  we  must  make  the  best  of  it." 

Miss  E,aeburn  made  no  answer,  but  pretended  to  set 
her  heel,  her  needles  shaking.  Lady  Winterbourne 
was  very  sorry  for  her  two  old  friends. 

"  Wait  a  little,"  she  said,  laying  her  hand  lightly  on 
Miss  Eaeburn's.  "jSTo  doubt  with  her  opinions  she 
felt  specially  drawn  to  assert  herself  to-day.  One  can 
imagine  it  very  well  of  a  girl,  and  a  generous  girl  in 
her  position.  You  will  see  other  sides  of  her,  I  am 
sure  you  will.  And  you  would  never  —  you  could 
never  —  make  a  breach  with  Aldous." 

"  We  must  all  remember,"  said  Lord  Maxwell,  get- 
ting up  and  beginning  to  walk  up  and  down  beside 
them,  '•'  that  Aldous  is  in  no  way  dependent  upon  me. 
He  has  his  own  resources.  He  could  leave  us  to- 
morrow. Dependent  on  me !  It  is  the  other  way,  I 
think,  Agneta  —  don't  you  ?  " 

He  stopped  and  looked  at  her,  and  she  returned  his 
look  in  spite  of  herself.  A  tear  dropped  on  her  stock- 
ing which  she  hastily  brushed  away. 

"  Come,  now,"  said  Lord  Maxwell,  seating  himself ; 
"  let  us  talk  it  over  rationally.  Don't  go,  Lady  Win- 
terbourne." 


186  MAR  CELL  A. 

"Why,  the}'  may  be  settling  it  at  this  moment," 
cried  Miss  Raeburn,  half-choked,  and  feeling  as  though 
"the  skies  were  impious  not  to  fall." 

"No,  no!"  he  said  smiling.  "Not  yet,  I  think. 
But  let  us  prepare  ourselves." 

Meanwhile  the  cause  of  all  this  agitation  was  sitting 
languidly  in  a  great  Louis  Quinze  chair  in  the  picture 
gallery  upstairs,  with  Aldous  beside  her.  She  had 
taken  off  her  big  hat  as  though  it  oppressed  her,  and 
her  black  head  lay  against  a  corner  of  the  chair  in  line 
contrast  to  its  mellowed  golds  and  crimsons.  Opposite 
to  her  were  two  famous  Holbein  portraits,  at  which  she 
looked  from  time  to  time  as  though  attracted  to  them 
in  spite  of  herself,  by  some  trained  sense  which  could 
not  be  silenced.  But  she  was  not  communicative,  and 
Aldous  Avas  anxious. 

"  Do  you  think  I  was  rude  to  your  grandfather  ?  " 
she  asked  him  at  last  abruptly,  cutting  dead  short  some 
information  she  had  stiffly  asked  him  for  just  before, 
as  to  the  date  of  the  gallery  and  its  collection. 

"Eude!"  he  said  startled.  "Not  at  alL  Not  in 
the  least.  Bo  you  suppose  we  are  made  of  such  brittle 
stuff,  we  poor  landowners,  that  we  can't  stand  an 
argument  now  and  then  ?  " 

"  Your  aunt  thought  I  was  rude,"  she  said  unheed- 
in"-.     "I  think  I  was.     But  a  house  like  this  excites 

o 

me."  And  with  a  little  reckless  gesture  she  turned  her 
head  over  her  shoulder  and  looked  down  the  gallery. 
A  Velasquez  was  beside  her ;  a  great  Titian  over  the 
vray ;  a  priceless  Rembrandt  beside  it.  On  her  right 
hand  stood  a  chair  of  carved  steel,  presented  by  a 


MARCELLA.  187 

German  town  to  a  German  emperor,  which  had  not  its 
equal  in  Europe ;  the  brocade  draping  the  deep  win- 
dows in  front  of  her  had  been  specially  made  to  grace 
a  state  visit  to  the  house  of  Charles  II. 

"  At  Mellor/'  she  went  on,  "  we  are  old  and  tumble- 
down. The  rain  comes  in ;  there  are  no  shutters  to 
the  big  hall,  and  we  can't  afford  to  put  them  —  we 
can't  afford  even  to  have  the  pictures  cleaned.  I  can 
pity  the  house  and  nurse  it,  as  I  do  the  village.  But 
here  —  " 

And  looking  about  her,  she  gave  a  significant 
shrug. 

'•What  —  our  feathers  again!"  he  said  laughing. 
''  But  consider.  Even  you  allow  that  Socialism  cannot 
begin  to-morrow.  There  must  be  a  transition  time,  and 
clearly  till  the  State  is  ready  to  take  over  the  historical 
houses  and  their  contents,  the  present  nominal  owners 
of  them  are  bound,  if  they  can,  to  take  care  of  them. 
Otherwise  the  State  will  be  some  day  defrauded." 

She  could  not  be  insensible  to  the  charm  of  his 
manner  towards  her.  There  was  in  it,  no  doubt,  the 
natural  force  and  weight  of  the  man  older  and  better 
informed  than  his  companion,  and  amused  every  now 
and  then  by  her  extravagance.  But  even  her  irritable 
pride  could  not  take  offence.  For  the  intellectual  dis- 
sent she  felt  at  bottom  was  tempered  by  a  moral  sym- 
pathy of  which  the  gentleness  and  warmth  touched 
and  moved  her  in  spite  of  herself.  And  now  that  they 
were  alone  he  could  express  himself.  So  long  as  they 
had  been  in  company  he  had  seemed  to  her,  as  often 
before,  shy,  hesitating,  and  ineffective.  But  with  the 
disappearance  of  spectators,  who  represented  to  him. 


188  MARCELLA. 

no  doubt,  the  harassing  claim  of  the  critical  judgment, 
all  was  freer,  more  assured,  more  natural. 

She  leant  her  chin  on  her  hand,  considering  his 
plea. 

"  Supposing  you  live  long  enough  to  see  the  State 
take  it,  shall  you  be  able  to  reconcile  yourself  to  it  ? 
Or  shall  you  feel  it  a  wrong,  and  go  out  a  rebel  ? '' 

A  delightful  smile  was  beginning  to  dance  in  the 
dark  eyes.  She  was  recovering  the  tension  of  her  talk 
with  Lord  Maxwell. 

"  All  must  depend,  you  see,  on  the  conditions  —  on 
how  you  and  your  friends  are  going  to  manage  the 
transition.  You  may  persuade  me  —  conceivably  — 
or  you  may  eject  me  with  violence." 

"  Oh,  no  I "  she  interposed  quickly.  "  There  will  be 
no  violence.  Only  w^e  shall  gradually  reduce  your 
wages.  Of  course,  we  can't  do  without  leaders  —  we 
don't  want  to  do  away  with  the  captains  of  any  indus- 
try, agricultural  or  manufacturing.  Only  we  think 
you  overpaid.     You  must  be  content  with  less." 

"  Don't  linger  out  the  process,"  he  said  laughing, 
"  otherwise  it  will  be  painful.  The  people  who  are 
condemned  to  live  in  these  houses  before  the  Com- 
mune takes  to  them,  while  your  graduated  land  and 
income-taxes  are  slowly  starving  them  out,  will  have 
a  bad  time  of  it." 

"  Well,  it  Avill  be  your  first  bad  time  !  Think  of  the 
labourer  now,  with  five  children,  of  school  age,  on 
twelve  shillings  a  week  —  think  of  the  sweated  women 
in  London." 

"  Ah,  think  of  them,"  he  said  in  a  different  tone. 

There  was  a  pause  of  silence. 


MABCELLA.  189 

"  No  ! "  said  Marcella,  springing  up.  ''  Don't  let's 
think  of  them.  I  get  to  believe  the  whole  thing  ^pose 
in  myself  and  other  people.  Let's  go  back  to  the  pic- 
tures. Do  you  think  Titian  ^sweated'  his  drapery 
men  —  paid  them  starvation  rates,  and  grew  rich  on 
their  labour  ?  Very  likely.  All  the  same,  that  blue 
woman  "  —  she  pointed  to  a  bending  Magdalen  — 
"  will  be  a  joy  to  all  time." 

They  wandered  through  the  gallery,  and  she  was 
now  all  curiosity,  pleasure,  and  intelligent  interest,  as 
though  she  had  thrown  off  an  oppression.  Then  they 
emerged  into  the  upper  corridor  answering  to  the  cor- 
ridor of  the  antiques  below.  This  also  was  hung  with 
pictures,  principally  family  portraits  of  the  second 
order,  dating  back  to  the  Tudors  —  a  fine  series  of  be- 
robed  and  bejewelled  personages,  wherein  clothes  pre- 
dominated and  character  was  unimportant. 

Marcella's  eye  was  glancing  along  the  brilliant 
colour  of  the  wall,  taking  rapid  note  of  jewelled  necks 
surmounting  stiff  embroidered  dresses,  of  the  white- 
ness of  lace  ruffs,  or  the  love-locks  and  gleaming  satin 
of  the  Caroline  beauties,  when  it  suddenly  occurred 
to  her,  — 

"  I  shall  be  their  successor.  This  is  already  poten- 
tially mine.  In  a  few  months,  if  I  please,  I  shall  be 
walking  this  house  as  mistress  —  its  future  mistress, 
at  any  rate  ! " 

She  was  conscious  of  a  quickening  in  the  blood,  a 
momentary  blurring  of  the  vision.  A  whirlwind  of 
fancies  swept  across  her.  She  thought  of  herself  as 
the  young  peeress  —  Lord  Maxwell  after  all  was  over 
seventy  —  her  own  white  neck  blazing  with  diamonds. 


190  MARCELLA. 

the  historic  jewels  of  a  great  family — her  will  mak- 
ing law  ill  this  splendid  house  — in  the  great  domain 
surrounding  it.  What  power  —  what  a  position  — 
what  a  romance  !  She,  the  out-at-elbows  Marcella,  the 
Socialist,  the  friend  of  the  people.  What  new  lines 
of  social  action  and  endeavour  she  might  strike  out  I 
Miss  Kaeburn  should  not  stop  her.  She  caressed  the 
thought  of  the  scandals  in  store  for  that  lady.  Only 
it  annoyed  her  that  her  dream  of  large  things  should 
be  constantly  crossed  by  this  foolish  delight,  making 
her  feet  dance  —in  this  mere  prospect  of  satin  gowns 
and  line  jewels — of  young  and  feted  beauty  holding 
its  brilliant  court.  If  she  made  such  a  marriage,  it 
should  be,  it  must  be,  on  public  grounds.  Her  friends 
must  have  no  right  to  blame  her. 

Then  she  stole  a  glance  at  the  tall,  quiet  gentleman 
beside  her.  A  man  to  be  proud  of  from  the  beginning, 
and  surely  to  be  very  fond  of  in  time.  "  He  would 
always  be  my  friend,"  she  thought.  "  I  could  lead 
him.  He  is  very  clever,  one  can  see,  and  knows  a 
great  deal.  But  he  admires  what  I  like.  His  posi- 
tion hampers  him  —  but  I  could  help  him  to  get 
beyond  it.     We  might  show  the  way  to  many  !  '- 

"  Will  you  come  and  see  this  room  here  ?  "  he  said, 
stopping  suddenly,  yet  with  a  certain  hesitation  in 
the  voice.  "It  is  my  own  sitting-room.  There  are 
one  or  two  portraits  I  should  like  to  show  you  if  you 
would  let  me.". 

She  followed  him  with  a  rosy  cheek,  and  they  were 
presently  standing  in  front  of  the  portrait  of  his 
mother.  He  spoke  of  his  recollections  of  his  parents, 
quietly  and  simply,  yet  she  felt  through  every  nerve 


MAR CELL A.  191 

that  he  was  not  the  man  to  speak  of  such  things  to 
anybody  in  whom  he  did  not  feel  a  very  strong  and 
peculiar  interest.  As  he  was  talking  a  rush  of  liking 
towards  him  came  across  her.  How  good  he  was  — 
how  affectionate  beneath  his  reserve — a  woman 
might  securely  trust  him  with  her  future. 

So  with  every  minute  she  grew  softer,  her  eye 
gentler,  and  with  each  step  and  word  he  seemed  to 
himself  to  be  carried  deeper  into  the  current  of  joy. 
Intoxication  was  mounting  within  him,  as  her  slim, 
warm  youth  moved  and  breathed  beside  him ;  and  it 
was  natural  that  he  should  read  her  changing  behaviour 
for  something  other  than  it  was.  A  man  of  his  type 
asks  for  no  advance  from  the  woman ;  the  woman  he 
loves  does  not  make  them ;  but  at  the  same  time  he 
has  a  natural  self-esteem,  and  believes  readily  in  his 
power  to  win  the  return  he  is  certain  he  will  deserve. 

"  And  this  ?  *'  she  said,  moving  restlessly  towards 
his  table,  and  taking  up  the  photograph  of  Edward 
Hallin. 

'-  Ah !  that  is  the  greatest  friend  I  have  in  the 
world.  But  I  am  sure  you  know  the  name.  Mr. 
Hallin  — Edward  Hallin." 

She  paused  bewildered. 

"  What !  tJie  Mr.  Hallin  —  that  was  Edward  Hallin 
—  who  settled  the  Nottingham  strike  last  month  — 
who  lectures  so  much  in  the  East  End,  and  in  tlie 
north  ?  "' 

''  The  same.  We  are  old  college  friends.  I  owe 
him  much,  and  in  all  his  excitements  he  does  not  forget 
old  friends.  There,  3'ou  see  — '"  and  he  opened  a  blot- 
ting book  and  pointed  smiling  to  some  closely  written 


192  MARCELLA. 

sheets  lying  within  it  —  '^  is  my  last  letter  to  him.  I 
often  write  two  of  those  in  the  Aveek,  and  he  to  me. 
We  don't  agree  on  a  number  of  things,  but  that 
doesn't  matter." 

"What  can  you  find  to  write  about?"  she  said 
wondering.  "I  thought  nobody  wrote  letters  nowa- 
days, only  notes.     Is  it  books,  or  people  ?  " 

"  Both,  when  it  pleases  us  ! "  How  soon,  oh !  ye 
favouring  gods,  might  he  reveal  to  her  the  part  she 
herself  played  in  those  closely  covered  sheets  ?  "  But 
he  writes  to  me  on  social  matters  chiefly.  His  whole 
heart,  as  you  probably  know,  is  in  certain  experiments 
and  reforms  in  which  he  sometimes  asks  me  to  help 
him." 

Marcella  opened  her  eyes.  These  were  new  lights. 
She  began  to  recall  all  that  she  had  heard  of  young 
Hallin's  position  in  the  Labour  movement;  his  per- 
sonal magnetism  and  prestige ;  his  power  as  a  speaker. 
Her  Socialist  friends,  she  remembered,  thought  him 
in  the  way  —  a  force,  but  a  dangerous  one.  He  was 
for  the  follies  of  compromise  —  could  not  be  got  to 
disavow  the  principle  of  private  property,  while  ready 
to  go  great  lengths  in  certain  directions  towards  col- 
lective action  and  corporate  control.  The  "stalwarts" 
of  hei'  sect  would  have  none  of  him  as  a  leader,  while 
admitting  his  charm  as  a  human  being  —  a  charm  she 
remembered  to  have  heard  discussed  with  some  anxiety 
among  her  Yenturist  friends.  But  for  ordinary  people 
he  went  far  enough.  Her  father,  she  remembered,  had 
dubbed  him  an  "Anarchist"  in  connection  with  the 
terms  he  had  been  able  to  secure  for  the  Nottingham 
strikers,  as  reported  in  the  newspapers.    It  astonished 


MARCELLA.  193 

her  to  come  across  the  man  again  as  Mr.  Eaeburn's 
friend. 

They  talked  about  Hallin  a  little,  and  about  Aldous's 
Cambridge  acquaintance  with  him.  Then  Marcella, 
still  nervous,  went  to  look  at  the  bookshelves,  and 
found  herself  in  front  of  that  working  collection  of 
books  on  economics  which  Aldous  kept  in  his  own 
room  under  his  hand,  by  way  of  guide  to  the  very  fine 
special  collection  he  was  gradually  making  in  the 
library  downstairs. 

Here  again  were  surprises  for  her.  Aldous  had 
never  made  the  smallest  claim  to  special  knowledge  on 
all  those  subjects  she  had  so  often  insisted  on  making 
him  discuss.  He  had  been  always  tentative  and  diffi- 
dent, deferential  even  so  far  as  her  own  opinions  were 
concerned.  And  here  already  was  the  library  of  a 
student.  All  the  books  she  had  ever  read  or  heard 
discussed  were  here  —  and  as  few  among  many.  The 
condition  of  them,  moreover,  the  signs  of  close  and 
careful  reading  she  noticed  in  them,  as  she  took  them 
out,  abashed  her:  she  had  never  learnt  to  read  in  this 
way.  It  was  her  first  contact  with  an  exact  and 
arduous  culture.  She  thought  of  how  she  had  in- 
structed Lord  Maxwell  at  luncheon.  No  doubt  he 
shared  his  grandson's  interests.  Her  cheek  burned 
anew ;  this  time  because  it  seemed  to  her  that  she 
had  been  ridiculous. 

"  I  don't  know  why  you  never  told  me  you  took  a 
particular  interest  in  these  subjects,"  she  said  sud- 
denly, turning  round  upon  him  resentfully  —  she  had 
just  laid  down,  of  all  things,  a  volume  of  Venturist 
essays.  "  You  must  have  thought  I  talked  a  great  deal 
of  nonsense  at  luncheon." 


194  MARC  ELLA. 

"  Why !  —  I  have  always  been  dehghted  to  find  you 
cared  for  such  things  and  took  an  interest  in  them. 
How  few  women  do ! "  he  said  quite  simply,  opening 
his  eyes.  "  Do  you  know  these  three  pamphlets  ? 
They  were  privately  printed,  and  are  very  rare." 

He  took  out  a  book  and  showed  it  to  her  as  one 
does  to  a  comrade  and  equal  —  as  he  might  have  done 
to  Edward  Hallin.  But  something  was  jarred  in  her 
—  conscience  or  self-esteem  —  and  she  could  not  re- 
cover her  sense  of  heroineship.  She  answered  al> 
sently,  and  when  he  returned  the  book  to  the  shelf 
she  said  that  it  was  time  for  her  to  go,  and  would  he 
kindly  ask  for  her  maid,  who  was  to  walk  with  her  ? 

^'  I  will  ring  for  her  directly,"  he  said.  ''  But  you 
will  let  me  take  you  home  ?  "  Then  he  added  hur- 
riedly, ''  I  have  some  business  this  afternoon  with 
a  man  who  lives  in  your  direction." 

She  assented  a  little  stiffly  —  but  with  an  inward 
thrill.  His  w^ords  and  manner  seemed  suddenly  to 
make  the  situation  unmistakable.  Among  the  books 
it  had  been  for  the  moment  obscured. 

He  rang  for  his  own  servant,  and  gave  directions 
about  the  maid.  Then  they  went  downstairs  that 
Marcella  might  say  good-bye. 

Miss  Eaeburn  bade  her  guest  farewell,  with  a  dig- 
nity which  her  small  person  could  sometimes  assume, 
not  unbecomingly.  Lady  Winterbourne  held  the  girl's 
hand  a  little,  looked  her  out  of  countenance,  and  in- 
sisted on  her  promising  again  to  come  to  Winter- 
bourne  Park  the  following  Tuesday.  Then  Lord 
Maxwell,  with  old-fashioned  politeness,  made  Marcella 
take  his  arm  through  the  hall. 


MARCELLA.  195 

"You  must  come  and  see  us  agaiu,"  he  said  smil- 
ing ;  ''  though  we  are  such  belated  old  Tories,  we  are 
not  so  bad  as  we  sound." 

And  under  cover  of  his  mild  banter  he  fixed  a  pene- 
trating attentive  look  upon  her.  Flushed  and  em- 
barrassed !  Had  it  indeed  been  done  already?  or 
would  Aldous  settle  it  on  this  walk?  To  judge  from 
his  manner  and  hers,  the  thing  was  going  with  rapid- 
ity. Well,  well,  there  was  nothing  for  it  but  to  hope 
for  the  best. 

On  their  way  through  the  hall  she  stopped  him,  her 
hand  still  in  his  arm.  Aldous  was  in  front,  at  the 
door,  looking  for  a  light  shawl  she  had  brought  with 
her. 

"1  should  like  to  thank  you,"  she  said  shyly, 
"about  the  Hurds.  It  will  be  very  kind  of  you  and 
Mr.  Kaeburn  to  find  them  work." 

Lord  Maxwell  was  pleased;  and  with  the  usual 
unfair  advantage  of  beauty  her  eyes  and  curving  lips 
gave  her  little  advance  a  charm  infinite!}'  beyond  what 
any  plainer  woman  could  have  commanded. 

"  Oh,  don't  thank  me  !  "  he  said  cheerily.  "  Thank 
Aldous.  He  does  all  that  kind  of  thing.  And  if  in 
your  good  works  you  want  any  help  we  can  give,  ask 
it,  my  dear  young  lady.  My  old  comrade's  grand- 
daughter will  always  find  friends  in  this  house." 

Lord  Maxwell  would  have  been  very  much  aston- 
ished to  hear  himself  making  this  speech  six  weeks 
before.  As  it  was,  he  handed  her  over  gallantly  to 
Aldous,  and  stood  on  the  steps  looking  after  them  in 
a  stir  of  mind  not  unnoted  by  the  confidential  butler' 
who  held  the  door  open  behind  him.     Would  Aldous 


196  MARCELLA. 

insist  on  carrying  his  wife  off  to  the  dower  house  on 
the  other  side  of  the  estate  ?  or  would  they  be  con- 
tent to  stay  in  the  okl  place  with  the  old  people? 
And  if  so,  how  were  that  girl  and  his  sister  to  get  on  ? 
As  for  himself,  he  was  of  a  naturally  optimist  tem- 
per, and  ever  since  the  night  of  his  first  interview 
with  Aldous  on  the  subject,  he  had  been  more  and 
more  inclining  to  take  a  cheerful  view.  He  liked  to 
see  a  young  creature  of  such  evident  character  and 
cleverness  holding  opinions  and  lines  of  her  own.  It 
was  infinitely  better  than  mere  nonentity.  Of  course, 
she  was  now  extravagant  and  foolish,  perhaps  vain 
too.  But  that  would  mend  with  time  —  mend,  above 
all,  with  her  position  as  Aldous's  wife.  Aldous  was 
a  strong  man  —  how  strong,  Lord  Maxwell  suspected 
that  this  impetuous  young  lady  hardly  knew.  No,  he 
thought  the  family  might  be  trusted  to  cope  with  her 
when  once  they  got  her  among  them.  And  she  would 
certainly  be  an  ornament  to  the  old  house. 

Her  father  of  course  was,  and  would  be,  the  real 
difiiculty,  and  the  blight  which  had  descended  on  the 
once  honoured  name.  But  a  man  so  conscious  of 
many  kinds  of  power  as  Lord  Maxwell  could  not  feel 
much  doubt  as  to  his  own  and  his  grandson's  compe- 
tence to  keep  so  poor  a  specimen  of  humanity  as 
Eichard  Boyce  in  his  place.  How  wretchedly  ill, 
how  feeble,  both  in  body  and  soul,  the  fellow  had 
looked  when  he  and  Winterbourne  met  him  ! 

The  white-haired  owner  of  the  Court  walked  back 
slowly  to  his  library,  his  hands  in  his  pockets,  his 
head  bent  in  cogitation.  Impossible  to  settle  to  the 
various  important  political  letters  lying  on  his  table, 


MABCELLA.  197 

and  bearing  all  of  them  on  that  approaching  crisis  in 
the  spring  which  must  put  Lord  Maxwell  and  his 
friends  in  power.  He  was  over  seventy,  but  his  old 
blood  quickened  within  him  as  he  thought  of  those 
two  on  this  golden  afternoon,  among  the  beech  woods. 
How  late  Aldous  had  left  all  these  experiences !  His 
grandfather,  by  twenty,  could  have  shown  him  the 
way. 

Meanwhile  the  two  in  question  were  walking  along 
the  edge  of  the  hill  rampart  overlooking  the  plain, 
with  the  road  on  one  side  of  them,  and  the  falling 
beech  woods  on  the  other.  They  were  on  a  woodland 
path,  just  within  the  trees,  sheltered,  and  to  all  in- 
tents and  purposes  alone.  The  maid,  with  leisurely 
discretion,  was  following  far  behind  them  on  the  high 
road. 

Marcella,  who  felt  at  moments  as  though  she  could 
hardly  breathe,  by  reason  of  a  certain  tumult  of  nerve, 
was  yet  apparently  bent  on  maintaining  a  conversation 
without  breaks.  As  they  diverged  from  the  road  into 
the  wood-path,  she  plunged  into  the  subject  of  her 
companion's  election  prospects.  How  many  meetings 
did  he  find  that  he  must  hold  in  the  month  ?  What 
places  did  he  regard  as  his  principal  strongholds  ?  She 
"was  told  that  certain  villages,  which  she  named,  were 
certain  to  go  Radical,  whatever  might  be  the  Tory 
promises.  As  to  a  well-known  Conservative  League, 
which  was  very  strong  in  the  country,  and  to  which 
all  the  great  ladies,  including  Lady  Winterbourne,  be- 
longed, was  he  actually  going  to  demean  himself  by 
accepting  its  support  ?    How  was  it  possible  to  defend 


198  MARCELLA. 

the  bribery,  buns,  and  beer  by  which  it  won  its  cor- 
rupting way  ? 

Altogether,  a  quick  fire  of  questions,  remarks,  and 
sallies,  which  Aldous  met  and  parried  as  best  he  might, 
comforting  himself  all  the  time  by  thought  of  those 
deeper  and  lonelier  parts  of  the  wood  which  lay  before 
them.  At  last  she  dropped  out,  half  laughing,  half 
defiant,  words  which  arrested  him,  — 

"  Well,  I  shall  know  what  the  other  side  think  of 
their  prospects  very  soon.  Mr.  Wharton  is  coming  to 
lunch  with  us  to-morrow." 

"  Harry  Wharton  !  "  he  said  astonished.  "  But  Mr. 
Boyce  is  not  supporting  him.  Your  father,  I  think,  is 
Conservative  ?  " 

One  of  Dick  Boyce's  first  acts  as  owner  of  Mellor, 
when  social  rehabilitation  had  still  looked  probable  to 
him,  had  been  to  send  a  contribution  to  the  funds  of 
the  League  aforesaid,  so  that  Aldous  had  public  and 
conspicuous  grounds  for  his  remark. 

"  Need  one  measure  everything  by  politics  ?  "  she 
asked  him  a  little  disdainfully.  ''Ma^ai't  one  even 
feed  a  Radical  ?  " 

He  winced  visibly  a  moment,  touched  in  his  philos- 
opher's pride. 

"  You  remind  me,"  he  said,  laughing  and  reddening 
—  "and  justly  —  that  an  election  perverts  all  one's 
standards  and  besmirches  all  one's  morals.  Then  I 
suppose  Mr.  Wharton  is  an  old  friend  ?  " 

"  Papa  never  saw  him  before  last  week,"  she  said 
carelessly.  "  Now  he  talks  of  asking  him  to  stay  some 
time,  and  says  that,  although  he  Avon't  vote  for  him, 
he  hopes  that  he  will  make  a  good  fight." 


MARCELLA.  199 

Raeburn's  brow  contracted  in  a  puzzled  frown. 

''He  will  make  an  excellent  light/'  he  said  rather 
shortly.  ''Dodgson  hardly  hopes  to  get  in.  Harry 
Wharton  is  a  most  taking  speaker,  a  very  clever 
fellow,  and  sticks  at  nothing  in  the  way  of  promises. 
Ah,  you  will  find  him  interesting.  Miss  Boyce !  He 
has  a  co-operative  farm  on  his  Lincolnshire  property. 
Last  year  he  started  a  Labour  paper  —  which  I  believe 
you  read.  I  have  heard  you  quote  it.  He  believes  in 
all  that  you  hope  for  —  great  increase  in  local  govern- 
ment and  communal  control  —  the  land  for  the  people 
—  graduated  income-tax  —  the  extinction  of  landlord 
and  capitalist  as  soon  as  may  be  —  e  tutti  quanti.  He 
talks  with  great  eloquence  and  ability.  In  our  villages 
I  find  he  is  making  way  every  week.  The  p6ople 
think  his  manners  perfect.  "Ee  'as  a  way  wi'  un,' 
said  an  old  labourer  to  me  last  week.  '  If  'ee  wor  to 
coe  the  wild  birds,  I  do  believe.  Muster  Raeburn, 
they'd  coom  to  un  ! '  " 

"  Yet  you  dislike  him  !  "  said  Marcella,  a  daring 
smile  dancing  on  the  dark  face  she  turned  to  him. 
"  One  can  hear  it  in  every  word  you  say." 

He  hesitated,  trying,  even  at  the  moment  that  an 
impulse  of  jealous  alarm  which  astonished  himself  had 
taken  possession  of  him,  to  find  the  moderate  and 
measured  phrase. 

"I  have  known  him  from  a  boy,"  he  said.  "He  is 
a  connection  of  the  Levens,  and  used  to  be  always 
there  in  old  days.  He  is  very  brilliant  and  very 
gifted  —  " 

"Your  'but'  must  be  very  bad,"  she  threw  in,  "it 
is  so  long  in  coming." 


200  MARCELLA. 

"  Then  I  will  say,  whatever  opening  it  gives  you," 
he  replied  with  spirit,  "  that  I  admire  him  without  re- 
specting him." 

"  Who  ever  thought  otherwise  of  a  clever  oppo- 
nent ?  "  she  cried.     "  It  is  the  stock  formula." 

The  remark  stung,  all  the  more  because  Aldous  was 
perfectly  conscious  that  there  Avas  much  truth  in  her 
implied  charge  of  prejudice.  He  had  never  been  very 
capable  of  seeing  this  particular  jnan  in  the  dry  light 
of  reason,  and  was  certainly  less  so  than  before,  since 
it  had  been  revealed  to  him  that  Wharton  and  Mr. 
Boyce's  daughter  were  to  be  brought,  before  long,  into 
close  neighbourhood. 

"I  am  sorry  that  I  seem  to  you  such  a  Pharisee," 
he  said,  turning  upon  her  a  look  which  had  both  pain 
and  excitement  in  it. 

She  was  silent,  and  they  walked  on  a  few  yards 
without  speaking.  The  wood  had  thickened  around 
them.  The  high  road  was  no  longer  visible.  No 
sound  of  wheels  or  footsteps  reached  them.  The  sun 
struck  freely  through  the  beech-trees,  already  half 
bared,  whitening  the  grey  trunks  at  intervals  to  an 
arrowy  distinctness  and  majesty,  or  kindling  the 
slopes  of  red  and  freshly  fallen  leaves  below  into 
great  patches  of  light  and  flame.  Through  the  stems, 
as  always,  the  girdling  blues  of  the  plain,  and  in  their 
faces  a  gay  and  buoyant  breeze,  speaking  rather  of 
spring  than  autumn.  Robins,  "yellow  autumn's  night- 
ingales," sang  in  the  hedge  to  their  right.  In  the 
pause  between  them,  sun,  wind,  birds  made  their 
charm  felt.  Xature,  perpetual  chorus  as  she  is  to 
man,  stole  in,  urging,  wooing,  defining.  Aldous's  heart 
leapt  to  the  spur  of  a  sudden  resolve. 


MABCELLA.  201 

Instinctively  she  turned  to  him  at  the  same  moment 
as  he  to  her,  and  seeing  his  look  she  paled  a  little. 

"Do  you  guess  at  all  why  it  hurts  me  to  jar  with 
you  ?  "  he  said  —  finding  his  words  in  a  rush,  he  did 
not  know  how  —  "  Why  every  syllable  of  yours  matters 
to  me  ?  It  is  because  I  have  hopes  —  dreams  —  which 
have  become  my  life  !     If  you  could  accept  this  —  this 

—  feeling  —  this  devotion  —  which  has  grown  up  in 
me  —  if  you  could  trust  yourself  to  me  —  you  should 
have  no  cause,  I  think  —  ever  —  to  think  me  hard  or 
narrow  towards  any  person,  any  enthusiasm  for  which 
you  had  sympathy.  May  I  say  to  you  all  that  is  in 
my  mind  —  or  —  or  —  am  I  presuming  ?  " 

She  looked  away  from  him,  crimson  again.  A  great 
wave  of  exultation  —  boundless,  intoxicating  —  swept 
through  her.     Then  it  was  checked  by  a  nobler  feeling 

—  a  quick,  penitent  sense  of  his  nobleness. 

"  You  don't  know  me,"  she  said  hurriedly :  "  you 
think  you  do.  But  I  am  all  odds  and  ends.  I  should 
annoy  —  wound  —  disappoint  you." 

His  quiet  grey  eyes  flamed. 

*'  Come  and  sit  down  here,  on  these  dry  roots,"  he 
said,  taking  already  joyous  command  of  her.  "We 
shall  be  undisturbed.     I  have  so  much  to  say  ! " 

She  obeyed  trembling.  She  felt  no  passion,  but  the 
strong  thrill  of  something  momentous  and  irreparable, 
together  with  a  swelling  pride  —  pride  in  such  homage 
from  such  a  man. 

He  led  her  a  few  steps  down  the  slope,  found  a 
place  for  her  against  a  sheltering  trunk,  and  threw 
himself  down  beside  her.  As  he  looked  up  at  the 
picture  she  made  amid  the  autumn  branches,  at  her 


202  M ARC  ELLA. 

bent  head,  her  shy  moved  look,  her  white  hand  lying 
ungloved  on  her  black  dress,  happiness  overcame  him. 
He  took  her  hand,  found  she  did  not  resist,  drew  it  to 
him,  and  clasping  it  in  both  his,  bent  his  brow,  his 
lips  upon  it.  It  shook  in  his  hold,  but  she  was  passive. 
The  mixture  of  emotion  and  self-control  she  showed 
touched  him  deeply.  In  his  chivalrous  modesty  he 
asked  for  nothing  else,  dreamt  of  nothing  more. 

Half  an  hour  later  they  were  still  in  the  same  spot. 
There  had  been  much  talk  between  them,  most  of  it 
earnest,  but  some  of  it  quite  gay,  broken  especially  by 
her  smiles.  Her  teasing  mood,  however,  had  passed 
away.  She  was  instead  composed  and  dignified,  like 
one  conscious  that  life  had  opened  before  her  to  great 
issues. 

Yet  she  had  flinched  often  before  that  quiet  tone  of 
eager  joy  in  which  he  had  described  his  first  impres- 
sions of  her,  his  surprise  at  finding  in  her  ideals, 
revolts,  passions,  quite  unknown  to  him,  so  far,  in  the 
women  of  his  own  class.  Naturally  he  suppressed, 
perhaps  he  had  even  forgotten,  the  critical  amuse- 
ment and  irritation  she  had  often  excited  in  him.  He 
remembered,  he  spoke  only  of  sympathy,  delight, 
pleasure  —  of  his  sense,  as  it  were,  of  slaking  some 
long-felt  moral  thirst  at  the  well  of  her  fresh  feeling. 
So  she  had  attracted  him  first,  —  by  a  certain  strange- 
ness and  daring  —  by  what  she  said  — 

"  Now  —  and  above  all  by  what  you  are  I "  he  broke 
out  suddenly,  moved  out  of  his  even  speech.  "Oh! 
it  is  too  much  to  believe  —  to  dream  of!  Put  your 
hand  in  mine,  and  say  again  that  it  is  really  true  that 


MARCELLA.  203 

we  two  are  to  go  forward  together  —  that  you  will  be 
always  there  to  inspire  —  to  help  —  " 

And  as  she  gave  him  the  hand,  she  must  also  let 
him  —  in  this  first  tremor  of  a  pure  passion  —  take  the 
kiss  which  was  now  Lis  by  right.  That  she  should 
flush  and  draw  away  from  him  as  she  did,  seemed  to 
him  the  most  natural  thing  in  the  world,  and  the  most 
maidenly. 

Then,  as  their  talk  wandered  on,  bit  by  bit,  he  gave 
her  all  his  confidence,  and  she  had  felt  herself  hon- 
oured in  receiving  it.  She  understood  now  at  least 
something — a  first  fraction  —  of  that  inner  life,  masked 
so  well  beneath  his  quiet  English  capacity  and  unas- 
suming manner.  He  had  spoken  of  his  Cambridge 
years,  of  his  friend,  of  the  desire  of  his  heart  to  make 
his  landowner's  power  and  position  contribute  some- 
thing towards  that  new  and  better  social  order,  which 
he  too,  like  Hallin  —  though  more  faintly  and  inter- 
mittently—  believed  to  be  approaching.  The  diffi- 
culties of  any  really  new  departure  were  tremendous ; 
he  saw  them  more  plainly  and  more  anxiously  than 
Hallin.  Yet  he  believed  that  he  had  thought  his  way 
to  some  effective  reform  on  his  grandfather's  large 
estate,  and  to  some  useful  work  as  one  of  a  group  of 
like-minded  men  in  Parliament.  She  must  have  often 
thought  him  careless  and  apathetic  towards  his  great 
trust.  But  he  was  not  so  —  not  careless  —  but  par- 
alysed often  by  intellectual  difficulty,  by  the  claims 
of  conflicting  truths. 

She,  too,  explained  herself  most  freely,  most  frankly. 
She  would  have  nothing  on  her  conscience. 

'^  They  will  say,  of  course,"  she  said  with  sudden 


204  MARCELLA. 

nervous  abruptness,  "  that  I  am  marrying  you  for 
wealth  and  position.  And  in  a  sense  I  shall  be.  No ! 
don't  stop  me!  I  should  not  marry  you  if  —  if — I 
did  not  like  you.  But  you  can  give  me  —  you  have  — 
great  opportunities,  I  tell  you  frankly,  I  shall  enjoy 
them  and  use  them.  Oh !  do  think  well  before  you 
do  it.  I  shall  never  be  a  meek,  dependent  wife.  A 
woman,  to  my  mind,  is  bound  to  cherish  her  own 
individuality  sacredly,  married  or  not  married.  Have 
you  thought  that  I  may  often  think  it  right  to  do 
things  you  disagree  with,  that  may  scandalise  your 
relations  ?  " 

"You  shall  be  free,"  he  said  steadily.  "I  have 
thought  of  it  all." 

"Then  there  is  my  father,"  she  said,  turning  her 
head  away.  "  He  is  ill  —  he  wants  pity,  affection.  I 
will  accept  no  bond  that  forces  me  to  disown  him." 

"Pity  and  affection  are  to  me  the  most  sacred  things 
in  the  world,"  he  said,  kissing  her  hand  gently.  "  Be 
content — be  at  rest  —  my  beautiful  lady  !  " 

There  was  again  silence,  full  of  thought  on  her 
side,  of  heavenly  happiness  on  his.  The  sun  had 
sunk  almost  to  the  verge  of  the  plain,  the  wind  had 
freshened. 

"We  must  go  home,"  she  said,  springing  up. 
"Taylor  must  have  got  there  an  hour  ago.  Mother 
will  be  anxious,  and  I  must  —  I  must  tell  them." 

"  I  will  leave  you  at  the  gate,"  he  suggested  as  they 
walked  briskly ;  "  and  you  will  ask  your  father,  will 
you  not,  if  I  may  see  him  to-night  after  dinner  ?  " 

The  trees  thiuned  again  in  front  of  them,  and  the 
path  curved  inward  to  the  front.     Suddenly  a  man, 


MARCELLA.  205 

walking  on  the  road,  diverged  into  the  path  and  came 
towards  them.  He  was  swinging  a  stick  and  hum- 
ming. His  head  was  uncovered,  and  his  light  chestnut 
curls  were  blown  about  his  forehead  by  the  wind. 
Marcella,  looking  up  at  the  sound  of  the  steps,  had  a 
sudden  impression  of  something  young  and  radiant, 
and  Aldous  stopped  with  an  exclamation. 

The  new-comer  perceived  them,  and  at  sight  of 
Aldous  smiled,  and  approached,  holding  out  his  hand. 

'^  Whj",  Eaeburn,  I  seem  to  have  missed  you  twenty 
times  a  day  this  last  fortnight.  We  have  been  always 
on  each  other's  tracks  without  meeting.  Yet  I  think, 
if  we  had  met,  we  could  have  kept  our  tempers." 

'•Miss  Boyce,  I  think  you  do  not  know  Mr.  Whar- 
ton," said  Aldous,  stiffly.    "  May  I  introduce  jovl  ?  " 

The  young  man's  blue  eyes,  all  alert  and  curious 
at  the  mention  of  Marcella's  name,  ran  over  the  girl's 
face  and  form.  Then  he  bowed  with  a  certain  charm- 
ing exaggeration — like  an  eighteenth-century  beau 
with  his  hand  upon  his  heart — and  turned  back  with 
them  a  step  or  two  towards  the  road. 


BOOK   II. 

'  A  woman  has  enough  to  govern  wisely 
Her  own  demeanours,  passions  and  divisions." 


CHAPTER   I. 

On  a  certain  night  in  the  December  following  the 
engagement  of  Marcella  Boyce  to  Aldous  Raebnrn, 
the  woods  and  fields  of  Mellor,  and  all  the  bare  ram- 
part of  chalk  doAvn  which  divides  the  Buckingham- 
shire plain  from  the  forest  upland  of  the  Chilterns  lay 
steeped  in  moonlight,  and  in  the  silence  which  be- 
longs to  intense  frost. 

Winter  had  set  in  before  the  leaf  had  fallen  from 
the  last  oaks;  already  there  had  been  a  fortnight  or 
more  of  severe  cold,  with  hardly  any  snow.  The  pas- 
tures were  delicately  white;  the  ditches  and  the  wet 
furrows  in  the  ploughed  land,  the  ponds  on  Mellor 
common,  and  the  stagnant  pool  in  the  midst  of  the 
village,  whence  it  drew  its  main  water  supply,  were 
frozen  hard.  But  the  ploughed  chalk  land  itself  lay 
a  dull  grey  beside  the  glitter  of  the  pastures,  and  the 
woods  under  the  bright  sun  of  the  days  dropped  their 
rime  only  to  pass  once  more  with  the  deadly  cold  of 
the  night  under  the  fantastic  empire  of  the  frost. 
Every  day  the  veil  of  morning  mist  rose  lightly  from 
the  woods,  uncurtaining  the  wintry  spectacle,  and 
melting  into  the  brilliant  azure  of  an  unflecked  sky; 
every  night  the  moon  rose  without  a  breath  of  Avind, 
without  a  cloud ;  and  all  the  branch-work  of  the  trees, 
where  they  stood  in  the  open  fields,  lay  reflected  clean 

VOL.  1.  — 14  209 


210  MABCELLA. 

and  sharp  on  the  whitened  ground.  The  bitter  cohl 
stole  into  the  cottages,  marking  the  okl  and  feeble 
with  the  touch  of  Azrael ;  while  without,  in  the  field 
solitudes,  bird  and  beast  cowered  benumbed  and  starv- 
ing in  hole  and  roosting  place. 

How  still  it  was  —  this  midnight  —  on  the  fringe  of 
the  woods !  Two  men  sitting  concealed  among  some 
bushes  at  the  edge  of  Mr.  Boyce's  largest  cover,  and 
bent  upon  a  common  errand,  hardly  spoke  to  each 
other,  so  strange  and  oppressive  was  the  silence.  One 
was  Jim  Hurd;  the  other  was  a  labourer,  a  son  of  old 
Patton  of  the  almshouses,  himself  a  man  of  nearly 
sixty,  with  a  small  wizened  face  showing  sharp  and 
white  to-night  under  his  slouched  hat. 

They  looked  out  over  a  shallow  cup  of  treeless 
land  to  a  further  bound  of  wooded  hill,  ending 
towards  the  north  in  a  bare  bluff  of  down  shining 
steep  under  the  moon.  They  were  in  shadow,  and 
so  was  most  of  the  wide  dip  of  land  before  them ;  but 
through  a  gap  to  their  right,  beyond  the  wood,  the 
moonbeams  poured,  and  the  farms  nestling  under  the 
opposite  ridge,  the  plantations  ranging  along  it,  and 
the  bald  beacon  hill  in  which  it  broke  to  the  plain, 
were  all  in  radiant  light. 

Not  a  stir  of  life  anywhere.  Hurd  put  up  his  hand 
to  his  ear,  and  leaning  forward  listened  intently. 
Suddenly  —  a  vibration,  a  dull  thumping  sound  in 
the  soil  of  the  bank  immediately  beside  him.  He 
started,  dropped  his  hand,  and,  stooping,  laid  his  ear 
to  the  ground. 

"Gi'  us  the  bag,"  he  said  to  his  companion,  draw- 
ing himself  upright.     "  You  can  hear  'em  turnin'  and 


MARCELLA.         '  211 

creepin'  as  plain  as  anything.  Now  then,  you  take 
these  and  go  t'  other  side." 

He  handed  over  a  bundle  of  rabbit  nets.  Patton, 
crawling  on  hands  and  knees,  climbed  over  the  low 
overgrown  bank  on  which  the  hedge  stood  into  the 
precincts  of  the  wood  itself.  The  state  of  the  hedge, 
leaving  the  cover  practically  open  and  defenceless 
along  its  whole  boundary,  showed  plainly  enough  that 
it  belonged  to  the  Mellor  estate.  But  the  field  be- 
yond was  Lord  Maxwell's. 

Hurd  applied  himself  to  netting  the  holes  on  his 
own  side,  pushing  the  brambles  and  undergrowth  aside 
with  the  sure  hand  of  one  who  had  already  recon- 
noitred the  ground.  Then  he  crept  over  to  Patton  to 
see  that  all  was  right  on  the  other  side,  came  back, 
and  went  for  the  ferrets,  of  whom  he  had  four  in  a 
closely  tied  bag. 

A  quarter  of  an  hour  of  intense  excitement  fol- 
lowed. In  all,  five  rabbits  bolted  —  three  on  Kurd's 
side,  two  on  Patton' s.  It  was  all  the  two  men  could 
do  to  secure  their  prey,  manage  the  ferrets,  and  keep 
a  watch  on  the  holes.  Hurd's  great  hands  —  now  fix- 
ing the  pegs  that  held  the  nets,  now  dealing  death  to 
the  entangled  rabbit,  whose  neck  he  broke  in  an  instant 
by  a  turn  of  the  thumb,  now  winding  up  the  line  that 
held  the  ferret  —  seemed  to  be  everywhere. 

At  last  a  ferret  "laid  up,"  the  string  attached  to 
him  having  either  slipped  or  broken,  greatly  to  the 
disgust  of  the  men,  who  did  not  want  to  be  driven 
either  to  dig,  which  made  a  noise  and  took  time,  or 
to  lose  their  animal.  The  rabbits  made  no  more 
sign^  and  it  was  tolerably  evident  that  they  had  got 


212  MARCELLA. 

as  much  as  they  were  likely  to  get  out  of  that  partic- 
ular "bury." 

Hurd  thrust  his  arm  deep  into  the  hole  where  he 
had  put  the  ferret.  ''Ther's  summat  in  the  way,"  he 
declared  at  last.  "Mos'  likely  a  dead  un.  Gi'  me 
the  spade." 

He  dug  away  the  mouth  of  the  hole,  making  as 
little  noise  as  possible,  and  tried  again. 

"'Ere  ee  be/'  he  cried,  clutching  at  something, 
drew  it  out,  exclaimed  in  disgust,  flung  it  away,  and 
pounced  upon  a  rabbit  which  on  the  removal  of  the 
obstacle  followed  like  a  flash,  pursued  by  the  lost 
ferret.  Hurd  caught  the  rabbit  by  the  neck,  held  it 
by  main  force,  and  killed  it ;  then  put  the  ferret  into 
his  pocket.  "Lord!"  he  said,  wiping  his  brow, 
"they  do  come  suddent." 

What  he  had  pulled  out  was  a  dead  cat ;  a  wretched 
puss,  who  on  some  happy  hunt  had  got  itself  wedged 
in  the  hole,  and  so  perished  there  miserably.  He  and 
Patton  stooped  over  it  wondering;  then  Hurd  walked 
some  paces  along  the  bank,  looking  warily  out  to  the 
right  of  him  across  the  open  countr}^  all  the  time. 
He  threw  the  poor  malodorous  thing  far  into  the 
wood  and  returned. 

The  two  men  lit  their  pipes  under  the  shelter  of  the 
bushes,  and  rested  a  bit,  well  hidden,  but  able  to  see 
out  through  a  break  in  the  bit  of  thicket. 

"Six  on  'em,"  said  Hurd,  looking  at  the  stark 
creatures  beside  him.  "  I  be  too  done  to  try  another 
bury.     I'll  set  a  snare  or  two,  an'  be  off  home." 

Patton  puffed  silently.  He  was  wondering  whether 
Hurd  would  give  him  one  rabbit  or  two.     Hurd  had 


MARCELLA.  213 

both  "  plant  "  and  skill,  and  Patton  would  have  been 
glad  enough  to  come  for  one.  Still  he  was  a  plaintive 
man  with  a  perpetual  grievance,  and  had  already 
made  up  his  mind  that  Hurd  would  treat  him  shab- 
bily to-night,  in  spite  of  many  past  demonstrations 
that  his  companion  was  on  the  whole  of  a  liberal  dis- 
position. 

"You  bin  out  workin'  a  day's  work  already,  han't 
yer?"  he  said  presently.  He  himself  was  out  of 
work,  like  half  the  village,  and  had  been  presented 
by  his  wife  with  boiled  swede  for  supper.  But  he 
knew  that  Hurd  had  been  taken  on  at  the  works  at 
the  Court,  Avhere  the  new  drive  was  being  made,  and 
a  piece  of  ornamental  water  enlarged  and  improved  — 
mainly  for  the  sake  of  giving  employment  in  bad 
times.  He,  Patton,  and  some  of  his  mates,  had  tried 
to  get  a  job  there.  But  the  steward  had  turned  them 
back.  The  men  off  the  estate  had  first  claim,  and 
there  was  not  room  for  all  of  them.  Yet  Hurd  had 
been  taken  on,  which  had  set  people  talking. 

Hurd  nodded,  and  said  nothing.  He  was  not  dis- 
posed to  be  communicative  on  the  subject  of  his  em- 
ployment at  the  Court. 

"An'  it  be  true  as  she  be  go  in'  to  marry  Muster 
Raeburn?" 

Patton  jerked  his  head  towards  the  right,  where 
above  a  sloping  hedge  the  chimneys  of  Mellor  and 
the  tops  of  the  Mellor  cedars,  some  two  or  three  fields 
away,  showed  distinct  against  the  deep  night  blue. 

Hurd  nodded  again,  and  smoked  diligently.  Pat- 
ton, nettled  by  this  parsimony  of  speech,  made  the 
inward  comment  that  his  companion  was  ''a  deepun." 


214  MARCELLA. 

The  village  was  perfectly  aware  of  the  particular 
friendship  shown  by  Miss  Boyce  to  the  Hurds.  He 
was  goaded  into  trying  a  more  stinging  topic. 

"Westall  wor  braggin'  last  night  at  Bradsell's  "  — 
(Bradsell  was  the  landlord  of  "  The  Green  Man  "  at 
Mellor)  —  "ee  said  as  how  they'd  taken  yoii  on  at  the 
Court  —  but  that  didn't  prevent  'em  knowin'  as  you 
was  a  bad  lot.  Ee  said  ee  'ad  'is  eye  on  yer  —  ee  'ad 
warned  yer  twoice  last  year  —  " 

"That's  a  lie!"  said  Hurd,  removing  his  pipe  an 
instant  and  putting  it  back  again. 

Patton  looked  more  cheerful. 

"Well,  ee  spoke  cru'l.  Ee  was  certain,  ee  said,  as 
you  could  tell  a  thing  or  two  about  them  coverts  at 
Tudley  End,  if  the  treuth  were  known.  You  wor 
alius  a  loafer,  an'  a  loafer  you'd  be.  Yer  might  go 
snivellin'  to  Miss  Boyce,  ee  said,  but  yer  wouldn't  do 
no  honest  work  —  ee  said  —  not  if  yer  could  help  it 
—  that's  what  ee  said." 

"  Devil !  "  said  Hurd  between  his  teeth,  with  a 
quick  lift  of  all  his  great  misshapen  chest.  He  took 
his  pipe  out  of  his  mouth,  rammed  it  down  fiercely 
with  his  thumb,  and  put  it  in  his  pocket. 

"  Look  out !  "  exclaimed  Patton  with  a  start. 

A  whistle !  —  clear  and  distinct  —  from  the  opposite 
side  of  the  hollow.  Then  a  man's  figure,  black  and 
motionless  an  instant  on  the  whitened  down,  with  a 
black  speck  beside  it ;  lastly,  another  figure  higher  up 
along  the  hill,  in  quick  motion  towards  the  first,  with 
other  specks  behind  it.  The  poachers  instantly 
understood  that  it  was  Westall  —  whose  particular 
beat  lay  in  this  part  of  the  estate  —  signalling  to  his 


MARCELLA.  215 

night  watcher,  Charlie  DyneSj  and  that  the  two  men 
would  be  on  them  in  no  time.  It  was  the  work  of  a 
few  seconds  to  efface  as  far  as  possible  the  traces  of 
their  raid,  to  drag  some  thick  and  trailing  brambles 
which  hung  near  over  the  mouth  of  the  hole  where 
there  had  been  digging,  to  catch  up  the  ferrets  and 
game,  and  to  bid  Kurd's  lurcher  to  come  to  heel.  The 
two  men  crawled  up  the  ditch  with  their  burdens  as 
far  away  to  leeward  as  they  could  get  from  the  track 
by  which  the  keepers  would  cross  the  field.  The  ditch 
was  deeply  overgrown,  and  when  the  approaching 
voices  warned  them  to  lie  close,  they  crouched  under 
a  dense  thicket  of  brambles  and  overhanging  bushes, 
afraid  of  nothing  but  the  noses  of  the  keepers'  dogs. 

Dogs  and  men,  however,  passed  unsuspecting. 

"Hold  still!"  said  Hurd,  checking  Patton's  first 
attempt  to  move.  "Ee'll  be  back  again  mos'  like. 
It's  'is  dodge." 

And  sure  enough  in  twenty  minutes  or  so  the  men 
reappeared.  They  retraced  their  steps  from  the  fur- 
ther corner  of  the  field,  where  some  preserves  of  Lord 
Maxwell's  approached  very  closely  to  the  big  Mellor 
wood,  and  came  back  again  along  the  diagonal  path 
within  fifty  yards  or  so  of  the  men  in  the  ditch. 

In  the  stillness  the  poachers  could  hear  Westall's 
harsh  and  peremptory  voice  giving  some  orders  to  his 
underling,  or  calling  to  the  dogs,  who  had  scattered  a 
little  in  the  stubble.  Kurd's  own  dog  quivered  beside 
him  once  or  twice. 

Then  steps  and  voices  faded  into  the  distance  and 
all  was  safe. 

The  poachers  crept  out  grinning,  and  watched  the 


216  MAECELLA. 

keepers'  progress  along  the  hill-face,  till  they  disap- 
peared into  the  Maxwell  woods. 

"  Ee  be  sold  again  —  blast  'im!  "  said  Hurd,  with  a 
note  of  quite  disproportionate  exultation  in  his  queer, 
cracked  voice.  "Xow  I'll  set  them  snares.  But 
you'd  better  git  home." 

Patton  took  the  hint,  gave  a  grunt  of  thanks  as  his 
companion  handed  him  two  rabbits,  which  he  stowed 
away  in  the  capacious  pockets  of  his  poacher's  coat, 
and  slouched  off  home  by  as  sheltered  and  roundabout 
a  way  as  possible. 

Hurd,  left  to  himself,  stowed  his  nets  and  other 
apparatus  in  a  hidden  crevice  of  the  bank,  and  strolled 
along  to  set  his  snares  in  three  hare-runs,  Avell  known 
to  him,  round  the  further  side  of  the  wood. 

Then  he  waited  impatiently  for  the  striking  of  the 
clock  in  Mellor  church.  The  cold  was  bitter,  but  his 
night's  w^ork  was  not  over  yet,  and  he  had  had  very 
good  reasons  for  getting  rid  of  Patton. 

Almost  immediately  the  bell  rang  out,  the  echo 
rolling  round  the  bend  of  the  hills  in  the  frosty 
silence.  Half-past  twelve  Hurd  scrambled  over  the 
ditch,  pushed  his  way  through  the  dilapidated  hedge, 
and  began  to  climb  the  ascent  of  the  wood.  The  out- 
skirts of  it  were  filled  with  a  thin  mixed  growth  of 
sapling  and  underwood,  but  the  high  centre  of  it  was 
crowned  by  a  grove  of  full-grown  beeches,  through 
which  the  moon,  now  at  its  height,  was  playing 
freely,  as  Hurd  clambered  upwards  amid  the  dead 
leaves  just  freshly  strewn,  as  though  in  yearly  festi- 
val, about  their  polished  trunks.  Such  infinite  grace 
and   strength   in  the   line   work   of  the  branches!  — 


MABCELLA.  217 

branches  not  bent  into  gnarled  and  unexpected  fanta- 
sies, like  those  of  the  oak,  but  gathered  into  every 
conceivable  harmony  of  upward  curve  and  sweep,  ris- 
ing all  together,  black  against  the  silvery  light,  each 
tree  related  to  and  completing  its  neighbour,  as 
though  the  whole  wood,  so  finely  rounded  on  itself 
and  to  the  hill,  were  but  one  majestic  conception  of  a 
master  artist. 

But  Hurd  saw  nothing  of  this  as  he  plunged 
through  the  leaves.  He  was  thinking  that  it  was 
extremeh^  likely  a  man  would  be  on  the  look-out  for 
him  to-night  under  the  big  beeches  —  a  man  with 
some  business  to  propose  to  him.  A  few  words 
dropped  in  his  ear  at  a  certain  public-house  the  night 
before  had  seemed  to  him  to  mean  this,  and  he  had 
accordingly  sent  Patton  out  of  the  way. 

But  when  he  got  to  the  top  of  the  hill  no  one  was 
to  be  seen  or  heard,  and  he  sat  him  down  on  a  fallen 
log  to  smoke  and  wait  awhile. 

He  had  no  sooner,  however,  taken  his  seat  than  he 
shifted  it  uneasily,  turning  himself  round  so  as  to 
look  in  the  other  direction.  For  in  front  of  him,  as 
he  was  first  placed,  there  was  a  gap  in  the  trees,  and 
over  the  lower  wood,  plainly  visible  and  challenging 
attention,  rose  the  dark  mass  of  Mellor  House.  And 
the  sight  of  Mellor  suggested  reflections  just  now  that 
were  not  particularly  agreeable  to  Jim  Hurd. 

He  had  just  been  poaching  Mr.  Boyce's  rabbits  with- 
out any  sort  of  scruple.  But  the  thought  of  Miss 
Boyce  was  not  pleasant  to  him  when  he  was  out  on 
these  nightly  raids. 

Why  had  she  meddled?     He  bore  lier  a  queer  sort 


218  MAECELLA. 

of  grudge  for  it.  He  had  just  settled  down  to  the 
bit  of  cobbling  which,  together  with  his  wife's  plait, 
served  him  for  a  blind,  and  was  full  of  a  secret  ex- 
citement as  to  various  plans  he  had  in  hand  for  "do- 
ing "  Westall,  combining  a  maximum  of  gain  for  the 
winter  with  a  maximum  of  safety,  when  Miss  Boyce 
walked  in,  radiant  with  the  news  that  there  was 
employment  for  him  at  the  Court,  on  the  new  works, 
whenever  he  liked  to  go  and  ask  for  it. 

And  then  she  had  given  him  an  odd  look. 

"And  I  was  to  pass  you  on  a  message  from  Lord 
Maxwell,  Hurd, "  she  had  said :  "  ^  You  tell  him  to  keep 
out  of  Westall's  way  for  the  future,  and  bygones  shall 
be  bygones.'  Now,  I'm  not  going  to  ask  what  that 
means.  If  you've  been  breaking  some  of  our  landlords' 
law,  I'm  not  going  to  say  I'm  shocked.  I'd  alter  the 
law  to-morrow,  if  I  could!  — you  know  I  would.  But 
I  do  say  you're  a  fool  if  you  go  on  with  it,  now  you've 
got  good  work  for  the  winter ;  you  must  please  remem- 
ber your  wife  and  children." 

And  there  he  had  sat  like  a  log,  staring  at  her  — 
both  he  and  Minta  not  knowing  where  to  look,  or  how 
to  speak.  Then  at  last  liis  wife  had  broken  out,  cry- 
ing: 

"  Oh,  miss !  we  should  ha  starved  —  " 

And  Miss  Boyce  had  stopped  her  in  a  moment, 
catching  her  by  the  hand.  Didn't  she  know  it?  Was 
she  there  to  preach  to  them?  Only  Hurd  must 
promise  not  to  do  it  any  more,  for  his  wife's  sake. 

And  he  —  stammering  —  left  without  excuse  or  re- 
source, either  against  her  charge,  or  the  work  she 
offered  him  —  had  promised  her,  and  promised  her, 


MABCELLA.  219 

moreover  —  in  his  trepidation  —  with  more  fervency 
than  he  at  all  liked  to  remember. 

For  abont  a  fortnight,  perhaps,  he  had  gone  to  the 
Court  by  day,  and  had  kept  indoors  by  night.  Then, 
just  as  the  vagabond  passions,  the  Celtic  instincts,  so 
long  repressed,  so  lately  roused,  were  goading  at  him 
again,  he  met  Westall  in  the  road  —  Westall,  who 
looked  him  over  from  top  to  toe  with  an  insolent 
smile,  as  much  as  to  say,  "Well,  my  man,  Ave've  got 
the  whip  hand  of  you  now!"  That  same  night  he 
crept  out  again  in  the  dark  and  the  early  morning,  in 
spite  of  all  Minta's  tears  and  scolding. 

Well,  what  matter?  As  towards  the  rich  and  the 
law,  he  had  the  morals  of  the  slave,  who  does  not  feel 
that  he  has  had  any  part  in  making  the  rules  he  is 
expected  to  keep,  and  breaks  them  when  he  can  with 
glee.  It  made  him  uncomfortable,  certainly,  that 
Miss  Boyce  should  come  in  and  out  of  their  place  as 
she  did,  should  be  teaching  Willie  to  read,  and  bring- 
ing her  old  dresses  to  make  up  for  Daisy  and  Xellie, 
while  he  was  making  a  fool  of  her  in  this  way.  Still 
he  took  it  all  as  it  came.  One  sensation  wiped  out 
another. 

Besides,  Miss  Boyce  had,  after  all,  much  part  in 
this  double  life  of  his.  Whenever  he  was  at  home, 
sitting  over  the  fire  with  a  pipe,  he  read  those  papers 
and  things  she  had  brought  him  in  the  summer.  He 
had  not  taken  much  notice  of  them  at  first.  Xow  he 
spelled  them  out  again  and  again.  He  had  always 
thought  "them  rich  people  took  advantage  of  yer." 
But  he  had  never  supposed,  somehow,  they  were  such 
thieves,  such  mean  thieves,  as  it  appeared  they  were. 


220  MARCELLA. 

A  curious  ferment  filled  his  restless,  inconsequent 
brain.  The  poor  were  downtrodden,  but  they  were 
coining  to  their  rights.  The  land  and  its  creatures 
were  for  the  people!  not  for  the  idle  rich.  Above 
all,  Westall  was  a  devil,  and  must  be  put  down.  For 
the  rest,  if  he  could  have  given  words  to  experience, 
he  would  have  said  that  since  he  began  to  go  out 
poaching  he  had  burst  his  prison  and  found  himself. 
A  life  which  was  not  merely  endurance  pulsed  in  him. 
The  scent  of  the  night  woods,  the  keenness  of  the 
night  air,  the  tracks  and  ways  of  the  wild  creatures, 
the  wiles  by  which  he  slew  them,  the  talents  and 
charms  of  his  dog  Bruno  —  these  things  had  developed 
in  him  new  aptitudes  both  of  mind  and  body,  which 
were  in  themselves  exhilaration.  He  carried  his 
dwarf's  frame  more  erect,  breathed  from  an  ampler 
chest.  As  for  his  work  at  the  Court,  he  thought  of  it 
often  with  impatience  and  disgust.  It  was  a  more 
useful  blind  than  his  cobbling,  or  he  would  have 
shammed  illness  and  got  quit  of  it. 

"  Them  were  sharp  uns  that  managed  that  business 
at  Tudley  End ! "  He  fell  thinking  about  it  and 
chuckling  over  it  as  he  smoked.  Two  of  Westall' s 
best  coverts  swept  almost  clear  just  before  the  big 
shoot  in  I^ovember !  —  and  all  done  so  quick  and  quiet, 
before  you  could  say  "Jack  Eobinson."  Well,  there 
was  plenty  more  yet,  more  woods,  and  more  birds. 
There  were  those  coverts  down  there,  on  the  Mellor 
side  of  the  hollow  —  they  had  been  kept  for  the  last 
shoot  in  January.  Hang  him!  why  wasn't  that  fel- 
low up  to  time? 

But  no  one  came,  and  he  must  sit  on,  shivering  and 


V 


MARCELLA.  221 

smoking,  a  sack  across  his  shoulders.  As  the  stir  of 
nerve  and  blood  caused  by  the  ferreting  subsided,  his 
spirits  began  to  sink.  Mists  of  Celtic  melancholy, 
perhaps  of  Celtic  superstition,  gained  upon  him.  He 
found  himself  glancing  from  side  to  side,  troubled  by 
the  noises  in  the  wood.  A  sad  light  wind  crept  about 
the  trunks  like  a  whisper;  the  owls  called  overhead; 
sometimes  there  was  a  sudden  sharp  rustle  or  fall  of  a 
branch  that  startled  him.  Yet  he  knew  every  track, 
every  tree  in  that  wood.  Up  and  down  that  field  out- 
side he  had  followed  his  father  at  the  plough,  a  little 
sickly  object  of  a  lad,  yet  seldom  unhappy,  so  long  as 
childhood  lasted,  and  his  mother's  temper  could  be 
fled  from,  either  at  school  or  in  the  fields.  Under 
that  boundary  hedge  to  the  right  he  had  lain  stunned 
and  bleeding  all  a  summer  afternoon,  after  old  Westall 
had  thrashed  him,  his  heart  scorched  within  him  by 
the  sense  of  wrong  and  the  craving  for  revenge.  On 
that  dim  path  leading  down  the  slope  of  the  wood, 
George  Westall  had  once  knocked  him  down  for  dis- 
turbing a  sitting  pheasant.  He  could  see  himself 
falling  —  the  tall,  powerful  lad  standing  over  him  with 
a  grin. 

Then,  inconsequently,  he  began  to  think  of  his 
father's  death.  He  made  a  good  end  did  the  old  man. 
"Jim,  my  lad,  the  Lord's  verra  merciful,"  or  "Jim, 
you'll  look  after  Ann."  Ann  was  the  only  daughter. 
Then  a  sigh  or  two,  and  a  bit  of  sleep,  and  it  was 
done. 

And  everybody  must  go  the  same  way,  must  come 
to  the  same  stopping  of  the  breath,  the  same  awful- 
ness  —  in  a  life  of  blind  habit  —  of  a  moment  that 


222  MABCELLA. 

never  had  been  before  and  never  could  be  again?  He 
did  not  put  it  to  these  words,  but  the  shudder  that  is 
in  the  thought  for  all  of  us,  seized  him.  He  was  very 
apt  to  think  of  dying,  to  ponder  in  his  secret  heart 
liow  it  would  be,  and  when.  And  always  it  made  him 
very  soft  towards  Minta  and  the  children.  Not  only 
did  the  life  instinct  cling  to  them,  to  the  warm  human 
hands  and  faces  hemming  him  in  and  protecting  him 
from  that  darkness  beyond  with  its  shapes  of  terror. 
But  to  think  of  himself  as  sick,  and  gasping  to  his 
end,  like  his  father,  was  to  put  himself  back  in  his  old 
relation  to  his  wife,  when  they  were  first  married. 
He  might  cross  Minta  now,  but  if  he  came  to  lie  sick, 
he  could  see  himself  there,  in  the  future,  following 
her  about  with  his  eyes,  and  thanking  her,  and  doing 
all  she  told  him,  just  as  he'd  used  to  do.  He  couldn't 
die  without  her  to  help  him  through.  The  very  idea 
of  her  being  taken  first,  roused  in  him  a  kind  of 
spasm  —  a  fierceness,  a  clenching  of  the  hands.  But 
all  the  same,  in  this  poaching  matter,  he  must  have 
his  wa}^,  and  she  must  just  get  used  to  it. 

Ah!  a  low  whistle  from  the  further  side  of  the 
wood.  He  replied,  and  was  almost  instantly  joined 
by  a  tall  slouching  youth,  by  day  a  blacksmith's 
apprentice  at  Gairsley,  the  Maxwells'  village,  who  had 
often  brought  him  information  before. 

The  two  sat  talking  for  ten  minutes  or  so  on  the 
log.  Then  they  parted ;  Hurd  went  back  to  the  ditch 
where  he  had  left  the  game,  put  two  rabbits  into  his 
pockets,  left  the  other  two  to  be  removed  in  the  morn- 
ing when  he  came  to  look  at  his  snares,  and  went  off 
home,  keeping  as  much  as  possible  in  the  shelter  of 


MABCELLA.  223 

the  hedges.  On  one  occasion  he  braved  the  moonlight 
and  the  open  field,  rather  than  pass  throngh  a  woody 
corner  where  an  old  farmer  had  been  fonnd  dead  some 
six  years  before.  Then  he  reached  a  deep  lane  leading 
to  the  village,  and  was  soon  at  his  own  door. 

As  he  climbed  the  wooden  ladder  leading  to  the  one 
bedroom  where  he,  his  wife,  and  his  four  children 
slept,  his  wife  sprang  up  in  bed. 

"  Jim,  you  must  be  perished  —  such  a  night  as  't  is. 
Oh,  Jim  —  where  ha'  you  bin?" 

She  was  a  miserable  figure  in  her  coarse  nightgown, 
with  her  grizzling  hair  wild  about  her,  and  her  thin 
arms  nervously  outstretched  along  the  bed.  The  room 
was  freezing  cold,  and  the  moonlight  stealing  through 
the  scanty  bits  of  curtains  brought  into  dismal  clear- 
ness the  squalid  bed,  the  stained  walls,  and  bare 
uneven  floor.  On  an  iron  bedstead,  at  the  foot  of  the 
large  bed,  lay  Willie,  restless  and  coughing,  with  the 
elder  girl  beside  him  fast  asleep;  the  other  girl  lay 
beside  her  mother,  and  the  wooden  box  with  rockers, 
which  held  the  baby,  stood  within  reach  of  jNIrs. 
Kurd's  arm. 

He  made  her  no  answer,  but  went  to  look  at  the 
coughing  boy,  who  had  been  in  bed  for  a  week  with 
bronchitis. 

"You've  never  been  and  got  in  Westall's  way 
again?"  she  said  anxiously.  "It's  no  good  my  tryin' 
to  get  a  wink  o'  sleep  when  you're  out  like  this." 

"Don't  you  worrit  yourself,"  he  said  to  her,  not 
roughly,  but  decidedly.  "  I'm  all  right.  This  boy  's 
bad,  Minta." 

"  Yes,  an'  I  kep'  up  the  fire  an'  put  the  spout  on  the 


224  MAECELLA. 

kettle,  too."  She  pointed  to  the  grate  and  to  the  thin 
line  of  steam,  which  was  doing  its  powerless  best 
against  the  arctic  cold  of  the  room. 

Hurd  bent  over  the  boy  and  tried  to  put  him  com- 
fortable. The  child,  weak  and  feverish,  only  began  to 
cry  —  a  hoarse  bronchial  crying,  which  threatened  to 
wake  the  baby.  He  could  not  be  stopped,  so  Hurd 
made  haste  to  take  off  his  own  coat  and  boots,  and 
then  lifted  the  poor  soul  in  his  arms. 

"You'll  be  quiet.  Will,  and  go  sleep,  won't  yer,  if 
daddy  takes  keer  on  you?  " 

He  wrapped  his  own  coat  round  the  little  fellow, 
and  lying  down  beside  his  wife,  took  him  on  his  arm 
and  drew  the  thin  brown  blankets  over  himself  and 
his  charge.  He  himself  was  warm  with  exercise,  and 
in  a  little  while  the  huddling  creatures  on  either  side 
of  him  were  warm  too.  The  quick,  panting  breath  of 
the  boy  soon  showed  that  he  was  asleep.  His  father, 
too,  sank  almost  instantly  into  deep  gulfs  of  sleep. 
Only  the  wife  —  nervous,  overdone,  and  possessed  by 
a  thousand  fears  —  lay  tossing  and  wakeful  hour  after 
hour,  while  the  still  glory  of  the  winter  night 
passed  by. 


CHAPTER   11. 

"  Well,  Marcella,  have  you  and  Lady  Winterbourne 
arranged  your  classes  ?  " 

Mrs.  Boyce  was  stooping  over  a  piece  of  needlework 
beside  a  window  in  the  Mellor  drawing-room,  trying  to 
catch  the  rapidly  failing  light.  It  was  one  of  the  last 
days  of  December.  Marcella  had  just  come  in  from 
the  village  rather  early,  for  they  were  expecting  a 
visitor  to  arrive  about  tea  time,  and  had  thrown  her- 
self, tired,  into  a  chair  near  her  mother. 

"  We  have  got  about  ten  or  eleven  of  the  younger 
women  to  join;  none  of  the  old  ones  will  come,"  said 
Marcella.  "  Lady  Winterbourne  has  heard  of  a  capital 
teacher  from  Dunstable,  and  we  hope  to  get  started 
next  week.  There  is  money  enough  to  pay  wages  for 
three  months." 

In  spite  of  her  fatigue,  her  eye  was  bright  and  rest- 
less. The  energy  of  thought  and  action  from  which 
she  had  just  emerged  still  breathed  from  every  limb 
and  feature. 

"  Where  have  you  got  the  money  ?  " 

*'Mr.  Eaeburn  has  managed  it,"  said  Marcella, 
briefly. 

Mrs.  Boyce  gave  a  slight  shrug  of  the  shoulders. 

''And  afterwards  —  what  is  to  become  of  your 
product  ?  " 

vol..  I.  — 15  225 


226  MARCELLA. 

''  There  is  a  London  shop  Lady  Winterbourne  knows 
will  take  what  we  make  if  it  turns  out  welL  Of 
course,  we  don't  expect  to  pay  our  way." 

Marcella  gave  her  explanations  with  a  certain  stiff- 
ness of  self-defence.  She  and  Lady  Winterbourne  had 
evolved  a  scheme  for  reviving  and  improving  the  local 
industry  of  straw-plaiting,  w^hich  after  years  of  decay 
seemed  now  on  the  brink  of  final  disappearance.  The 
village  w^omen  w^ho  could  at  present  earn  a  few  pence 
a  Aveek  by  the  coarser  kinds  of  w^ork  were  to  be  in- 
structed, not  onl}^  in  the  finer  a.nd  better  paid  sorts, 
but  also  in  the  making  up  of  the  plait  when  done, 
and  the  "  blocking  "  of  hats  and  bonnets  —  processes 
hitherto  carried  on  exclusively  at  one  or  two  large 
local  centres. 

"You  don't  expect  to  pay  your  way?"  repeated 
Mrs.  Boyce.     "  What,  never  ?  " 

'^Well,  we  shall  give  twelve  to  fourteen  shillings  a 
week  wages.  We  shall  find  the  materials,  and  the 
room  —  and  prices  are  very  low,  the  whole  trade 
depressed." 

Mrs.  Boyce  laughed. 

"I  see.  How  many  workers  do  you  expect  to  get 
together  ?  " 

"Oh!  eventually,  about  two  hundred  in  the  three 
villages.  It  will  regenerate  the  whole  life ! "  said 
Marcella,  a  sudden  ray  from  the  inner  ^varmth  escap- 
ing her,  against  her  will. 

Mrs.  Boyce  smiled  again,  and  turned  her  work  so  as 
to  see  it  better. 

"Does  Aldous  understand  what  you  are  letting 
him  in  for  ?  " 


MARCELLA.  227 

Marcella  flushed. 

"Perfectly.     It  is  'ransom'  —  that's  all." 

"  And  he  is  ready  to  take  your  view  of  it  ?  " 

"  Oh,  he  thinks  us  economically  unsound,  of  course," 
said  Marcella,  impatiently.  "So  we  are.  All  care 
for  the  human  being  under  the  present  state  of  things 
is  economically  unsound.  But  he  likes  it  no  more 
than  I  do." 

"  Well,  lucky  for  you  he  has  a  long  purse,"  said 
Mrs.  Boyce,  lightly.  "But  I  gather,  Marcella,  you 
don't  insist  upon  his  spending  it  all  on  straw-plaiting. 
He  told  me  yesterday  he  had  taken  the  Hertford 
Street  house." 

"  We  shall  live  quite  simply,"  said  Marcella,  quickly. 

"  What,  no  carriage  ?  " 

Marcella  hesitated. 

"A  carriage  saves  time.  And  if  one  goes  about 
much,  it  does  not  cost  so  much  more  than  cabs." 

"  So  you  mean  to  go  about  much  ?  Lady  Winter- 
bourne  talks  to  me  of  presenting  you  in  May." 

"  That's  Miss  Raeburn,"  cried  Marcella.  "  She  says 
I  must,  and  all  the  family  would  be  scandalised  if  I 
didn't  go.     But  you  can't  imagine  —  " 

She  stopped  and  took  off  her  hat,  pushing  the  hair 
back  from  her  forehead.  A  look  of  worry  and  excite- 
ment had  replaced  the  radiant  glow  of  her  first  rest- 
ing moments. 

"That  you  like  it?"  said  Mrs.  Boyce,  bluntly. 
"  Well,  I  don't  know.  Most  young  Avomen  like  pretty 
gowns,  and  great  functions,  and  prominent  positions. 
I  don't  call  you  an  ascetic,  Marcella." 

Marcella  winced. 


228  MABCELLA. 

"  One  has  to  fit  oneself  to  circumstances/'  she  said 
proudly.  "  One  may  hate  the  circumstances,  but  one 
can't  escape  them." 

"  Oh,  I  don't  think  you  will  hate  your  circum- 
stances, my  dear  !  You  would  be  very  foolish  if  you 
did.  Have  you  heard  finally  how  much  the  settle- 
ment is  to  be  ?  " 

''  No,"  said  Marcella,  shortly.  "  I  have  not  asked 
papa,  nor  anybody." 

"It  was  only  settled  this  morning.  Your  father 
told  me  hurriedly  as  he  went  out.  You  are  to  have 
two  thousand  a  year  of  your  own." 

The  tone  was  dry,  and  the  speaker's  look  as  she 
turned  towards  her  daughter  had  in  it  a  curious 
hostility;  but  Marcella  did  not  notice  her  mother's 
manner. 

"  It  is  too  much,"  she  said  in  a  low  voice. 

She  had  thrown  back  her  head  against  the  chair  in 
which  she  sat,  and  her  half -troubled  eyes  were  wander- 
ing over  the  darkening  expanse  of  lawn  and  avenue. 

"  He  said  he  wished  you  to  feel  perfectly  free  to 
live  your  own  life,  and  to  follow  out  your  own  pro- 
jects. Oh,  for  a  person  of  projects,  my  dear,  it  is  not 
so  much.  You  will  do  well  to  husband  it.  Keep  it 
for  yourself.  Get  what  you  want  out  of  it :  not  what 
other  people  want." 

Again  Marcella' s  attention  missed  the  note  of  agita- 
tion in  her  mother's  sharp  manner.  A  soft  look  —  a 
look  of  compunction  —  passed  across  her  face.  Mrs. 
Boyce  began  to  put  her  Avorking  things  away,  finding 
it  too  dark  to  do  any  more. 

••By  the  way,"  said  the  mother,  suddenly,  "I  sup- 


MARCELLA.  229 

pose  you  will  be  going  over  to  help  him  in  his  can- 
vassing this  next  few  weeks  ?  Your  father  says  the 
election  will  be  certainly  in  February." 

Marcella  moved  uneasily. 

"  He  knows,''  she  said  at  last,  ''  that  I  don't  agTee 
with  him  in  so  many  things.  He  is  so  full  of  this 
Peasant  Proprietors  Bill.  And  I  hate  peasant  proper- 
ties.    They  are  nothing  but  a  step  backwards." 

Mrs.  Boyce  lifted  her  eyebrows. 

"  That's  unlucky.  He  tells  me  it  is  likely  to  be  his 
chief  work  in  the  new  Parliament.  Isn't  it,  on  the 
whole,  probable  that  he  knows  more  about  the  country 
than  you  do,  Marcella  ?  " 

Marcella  sat  up  with  sudden  energy  and  gathered 
her  walking  things  together. 

"It  isn't  knowledge  that's  the  question,  mamma; 
it's  the  principle  of  the  thing.  I  mayn't  know  any- 
thing, but  the  people  whom  I  follow  know.  There  are 
the  two  sides  of  thought  —  the  two  ways  of  looking 
at  things.  I  warned  Aldous  when  he  asked  me  to 
marry  him  which  I  belonged  to.     And  he  accepted  it." 

Mrs.  Boyce's  thin  fine  mouth  curled  a  little. 

"  So  you  suppose  that  Aldous  had  his  wits  about 
him  on  that  great  occasion  as  much  as  you  had  ?  " 

Marcella  first  started,  then  quivered  with  nervous 
indignation. 

"  Mother,"  she  said,  "  I  can't  bear  it.  It's  not  the 
first  time  that  you  have  talked  as  though  I  had  taken 
some  unfair  advantage  —  made  an  unworthy  bargain. 
It  is  too  hard  too.  Other  people  may  think  what  they 
like,  but  that  you  —  " 

Her  voice  failed  her,  and  the  tears  came  into  her 


230  MARCELLA. 

eyes.  She  was  tired  and  over-excited,  and  the  con- 
trast between  the  atmosphere  of  flattery  and  consider- 
ation which  surrounded  her  in  Aldous's  company,  in 
the  village,  or  at  the  Winterbournes,  and  this  tone 
which  her  mother  so  often  took  with  her  when  they 
were  alone,  was  at  the  moment  hardly  to  be  endured. 

Mrs.  Boyce  looked  up  more  gravely. 

"  You.  misunderstand  me,  my  dear,"  she  said  quietly. 
''  I  allow  myself  to  wonder  at  you  a  little,  but  I 
think  no  hard  things  of  you  ever.  I  believe  you  like 
Aldous." 

"  Eeally,  mamma !  "  cried  Marcella,  half  hysteri- 
cally. 

Mrs.  Boyce  had  by  now  rolled  up  her  work  and  shut 
her  workbasket. 

"  If  you  are  going  to  take  off  your  things,"  she  said, 
"  please  tell  William  that  there  will  be  six  or  seven 
at  tea.  You  said,  I  think,  that  Mr.  Raeburn  was 
going  to  bring  Mr.  Hallin  ?  " 

"  Yes,  and  Frank  Leven  is  coming.  When  will  Mr. 
Wharton  be  here  ?  " 

"  Oh,  in  ten  minutes  or  so,  if  his  train  is  punctual. 
I  hear  your  father  just  coming  in." 

Marcella  went  away,  and  Mrs.  Boyce  was  left  a  few 
minutes  alone.  Her  thin  hands  lay  idle  a  moment  on 
her  lap,  and  leaning  towards  the  window  beside  her, 
she  looked  out  an  instant  into  the  snowy  twilight. 
Her  mind  was  full  of  its  usual  calm  scorn  for  those  — 
her  daughter  included  —  who  supposed  that  the  human 
lot  was  to  be  mended  by  a  rise  in  weekly  wages,  or 
that  suffering  has  any  necessary  dependence  on  the 
amount   of   commodities   of   which   a   man   disposes. 


MARCELLA.  231 

What  hardship  is  there  in  starving  and  scrubbing  and 
toiling  ?  Had  she  ever  seen  a  labourer's  wife  scrub- 
bing her  cottage  floor  without  envy,  without  moral 
thirst?  Is  it  these  things  that  kill,  or  any  of  the 
great  simple  griefs  and  burdens  ?  Doth  man  live  by 
bread  alone  ?  The  whole  language  of  social  and 
charitable  enthusiasm  often  raised  in  her  a  kind  of 
exasperation. 

So  Marcella  would  be  rich,  excessively  rich,  even 
now.  Outside 'the  amount  settled  upon  her,  the  figures 
of  Aldous  Kaeburn's  present  income,  irrespective  of  the 
inheritance  which  would  come  to  him  on  his  grand- 
father's death,  were  a  good  deal  beyond  what  even 
Mr.  Boyce  —  upon  whom  the  daily  spectacle  of  the 
Maxwell  wealth  exercised  a  certain  angering  effect  — 
had  supposed. 

Mrs.  Boyce  had  received  the  news  of  the  engage- 
ment with  astonishment,  but  her  after-acceptance  of 
the  situation  had  been  marked  by  all  her  usual  phi- 
losophy. Probably  behind  the  philosophy  there  was 
much  secret  relief.  Marcella  was  provided  for.  Not 
the  fondest  or  most  contriving  mother  could  have  done 
more  for  her  than  she  had  at  one  stroke  done  for  her- 
self. During  the  early  autumn  Mrs.  Boyce  had  ex- 
perienced some  moments  of  sharp  prevision  as  to 
what  her  future  relations  might  be  towards  this 
strong  and  restless  daughter,  so  determined  to  con- 
quer a  world  her  mother  had  renounced.  Now  all 
was  clear,  and  a  very  shrewd  observer  could  allow 
her  mind  to  play  freely  with  the  ironies  of  the  situ- 
ation. 

As  to  Aldous  Raeburn,   she  had  barely  sj^oken  to 


232  M ABC  ELL  A. 

him  before  the  day  when  Marcella  announced  the 
engagement,  and  the  lover  a  few  hours  later  had 
claimed  her  daughter  at  the  mother's  hands  with  an 
emotion  to  which  Mrs.  Boyce  found  her  usual  diffi- 
culty in  responding.  She  had  done  her  best,  how- 
ever, to  be  gracious  and  to  mask  her  surprise  that  he 
should  have  proposed,  that  Lord  Maxwell  should  have 
consented,  and  that  Marcella  should  have  so  lightly 
fallen  a  victim.  One  surprise,  however,  had  to  be 
confessed,  at  least  to  herself.  After  her  interview 
with  her  future  son-in-law,  Mrs.  Boyce  realised  that 
for  the  first  time  for  fifteen  years  she  was  likely  to 
admit  a  new  friend.  The  impression  made  upon  him 
by  her  own  singular  personality  had  translated  itself 
in  feelings  and  language  Avhich,  against  her  will  as  it 
were,  established  an  understanding,  an  affinity.  That 
she  had  involuntarily  aroused  in  him  the  profoundest 
and  most  chivalrous  pity  was  plain  to  her.  Yet  for 
the  first  time  in  her  life  she  did  not  resent  it ;  and 
Marcella  watched  her  mother's  attitude  with  a  mix- 
ture of  curiosity  and  relief. 

Then  followed  talk  of  an  early  wedding,  communi- 
cations from  Lord  Maxwell  to  Mr.  Boyce  of  a  civil 
and  formal  kind,  a  good  deal  more  notice  from  the 
"county,"  and  finally  this  definite  statement  from 
Aldous  Raeburn  as  to  the  settlement  he  proposed  to 
make  upon  his  wife,  and  the  joint  income  which  he 
and  she  would  have  immediately  at  their  disposal. 

Under  all  these  grooving  and  palpable  evidences  of 
Marcella's  future  wealth  and  position,  Mrs.  Boyce  had 
shown  her  usual  restless  and  ironic  spirit.  But  of 
late,  and  especially  to-day,  restlessness  had  become 


MARCELLA.  233 

oppression.  While  Marcella  was  so  speedily  to  be- 
come the  rich  and  independent  woman,  they  them- 
selves, Marcella's  mother  and  father,  were  very  poor, 
in  difficulties  even,  and  likely  to  remain  so.  She 
gathered  from  her  husband's  grumbling  that  the  pro- 
vision of  a  suitable  trousseau  for  Marcella  would  tax 
his  resources  to  their  utmost.  How  long  would  it  be 
before  they  were  dipping  in  Marcella's  purse  ?  Mrs. 
Boyce's  self-tormenting  soul  was  possessed  by  one  of 
those  nightmares  her  pride  had  brought  upon  her  in 
grim  succession  during  these  fifteen  years.  And  this 
pride,  strong  towards  all  the  world,  was  nowhere  so 
strong  or  so  indomitable,  at  this  moment,  as  towards 
her  own  daughter.  They  were  practically  strangers 
to  each  other;  and  they  jarred.  To  inquire  where 
the  fault  lay  would  have  seemed  to  Mrs.  Boyce  futile. 

Darkness  had  come  on  fast,  and  Mrs.  Boyce  was  in 
the  act  of  ringing  for  lights  when  her  husband  en- 
tered. 

''  Where's  Marcella  ?  "  he  asked  as  he  threw  him- 
self into  a  chair  with  the  air  of  irritable  fatigue  which, 
was  now  habitual  to  him. 

"Only  gone  to  take  olf  her  things  and  tell  William 
about  tea.     She  will  be  down  directly." 

''  Does  she  know  about  that  settlement  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  told  her.  She  thought  it  generous,  but  not 
—  1  think  —  unsuitable.  The  world  cannot  be  re- 
formed on  nothing." 

"  Keformed  I  —  fiddlesticks  ! "  said  Mr.  Boyce,  an- 
grily. "I  never  saw  a  girl  with  a  head  so  full  of 
nonsense  in  my  life.     Where  does  she  get  it  from  ? 


234  MARCELLA. 

Why  did  you  let  her  go  about  in  London  with  those 
people  ?  She  may  be  spoilt  for  good.  Ten  to  one 
she'll  make  a  laughing  stock  of  herself  and  everybody 
belonging  to  her,  before  she's  done." 

"Well,  that  is  Mr.  Raeburn's  affair.  I  think  I 
should  take  him  into  account  more  than  Marcella 
does,  if  I  were  she.     But  probably  she  knows  best." 

"  Of  course  she  does.  He  has  lost  his  head;  any  one 
can  see  that.  While  she  is  in  the  room,  he  is  like  a 
man  possessed.  It  doesn't  sit  well  on  that  kind  of 
fellow.  It  makes  him  ridiculous.  I  told  him  half 
the  settlement  would  be  ample.  She  would  only  spend 
the  rest  on  nonsense." 

"You  told  him  that  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  did.  Oh !  "  — with  an  angry  look  at  her  — 
"  I  suppose  you  thought  I  should  want  to  sponge  upon 
her  ?     I  am  as  much  obliged  to  you  as  usual ! " 

A  red  spot  rose  in  his  wife's  thin  cheek.  But  she 
turned  and  answered  him  gently,  so  gently  that  he 
had  the  rare  sensation  of  having  triumphed  over  her. 
He  allowed  himself  to  be  mollified,  and  she  stood 
there  over  the  fire,  chatting  with  him  for  some  time, 
a  friendly  natural  note  in  her  voice  which  was  rare 
and,  insensibly,  soothed  him  like  an  opiate.  She 
chatted  about  Marcella's  trousseau  gowns,  detailing 
her  own  contrivances  for  economy  ;  about  the  probable 
day  of  the  wedding,  the  latest  gossip  of  the  election, 
and  so  on.  He  sat  shading  his  eyes  from  the  fire- 
light, and  now  and  then  throwing  in  a  word  or  two. 
The  inmost  soul  of  him  was  very  piteous,  harrowed 
often  by  a  new  dread — the  dread  of  dying.  The 
woman   beside   him   held   him   in  the   hollow  of  her 


MABCELLA.  235 

hand.  In  the  long  wrestle  between  her  nature  and 
his,  she  had  conquered.  His  fear  of  her  and  his  need 
of  her  had  even  come  to  supply  the  place  of  a  dozen 
ethical  instincts  he  was  naturally  without. 

Some  discomfort,  probably  physical,  seemed  at  last 
to  break  up  his  moment  of  rest. 

"  Well,  I  tell  you,  I  often  wish  it  were  the  other 
man,"  he  said,  with  some  impatience.    "  Raeburn  's  so 

d d  superior.     I  suppose  I  offended  him  by  what 

I  said  of  Marcella's  whims,  and  the  risk  of  letting  her 
control  so  much  money  at  her  age,  and  with  her  ideas. 
You  never  saw  such  an  air  !  — all  very  quiet,  of  course. 
He  buttoned  his  coat  and  got  up  to  go,  as  though  I 
were  no  more  worth  considering  than  the  table. 
Xeither  he  nor  his  precious  grandfather  need  alarm 
themselves :  I  shan't  trouble  them  as  a  visitor.  If 
I  shock  them,  they  bore  me  —  so  we're  quits.  Mar- 
cella  '11  have  to  come  here  if  she  wants  to  see  her  father. 
But  owing  to  your  charming  system  of  keeping  her 
away  from  us  all  her  childhood,  she's  not  likely  to 
want." 

^'  You  mean  Mr.  Wharton  by  the  other  man  ?  "  said 
^Irs.  Boyce,  not  defending  herself  or  Aldous. 

"Yes,  of  course.  But  he  came  on  the  scene  just 
too  late,  worse  luck !  AVhy  wouldn't  he  have  done 
just  as  well?  He's  as  mad  as  she — madder.  He 
believes  all  the  rubbish  she  does  —  talks  such  rot,  the 
people  tell  me,  in  his  meetings.  But  then  he's  good 
company — he  amuses  you  —  you  don't  need  to  be  on 
your  p's  and  q's  with  him.  Why  wouldn't  she  have 
taken  up  with  him  ?  As  far  as  money  goes  they  could 
have  rubbed  along.  He's  not  the  man  to  starve  when 
there  are  game-pies  going.     It's  just  bad  luck." 


236  MARCELLA. 

Mrs.  Boyce  smiled  a  little. 

"What  there  is  to  make  you  suppose  that  she  would 
have  inclined  to  him,  I  don't  exactly  see.  She  has  been 
taken  up  with  Mr.  Eaeburn,  really,  from  the  first  week 
of  her  arrival  here." 

"  Well,  I  dare  say  —  there  was  no  one  else,"  said  her 
husband,  testily.  "  That's  natural  enough.  It's  just 
what  I  say.  All  I  know^  is,  Wharton  shall  be  free  to 
use  this  house  just  as  he  pleases  during  his  canvass- 
ing, whatever  the  Raeburns  may  say." 

He  bent  forward  and  poked  the  somewhat  sluggish 
fire  with  a  violence  which  hindered  rather  than  helped 
it.  Mrs.  Boyce's  smile  had  quite  vanished.  She  per- 
fectly understood  all  that  was  implied,  whether  in  his 
instinctive  dislike  of  Aldous  Raeburn,  or  in  his  cor- 
diality towards  young  Wharton. 

After  a  minute's  silence,  he  got  up  again  and  left 
the  room,  walking,  as  she  observed,  with  difificulty. 
She  stopped  a  minute  or  so  in  the  same  place  after 
he  had  gone,  turning  her  rings  absently  on  her  thin 
fingers.  She  was  thinking  of  some  remarks  which  Dr. 
Clarke,  the  excellent  and  experienced  local  doctor,  had 
made  to  her  on  the  occasion  of  his  last  visit.  With 
all  the  force  of  her  strong  will  she  had  set  herself  to 
disbelieve  them.  But  they  had  had  subtle  effects 
already.  Finally  she  too  went  upstairs,  bidding  Mar- 
cella,  whom  she  met  coming  down,  hurry  William  with 
the  tea,  as  Mr.  Wharton  might  arrive  any  moment. 


Marcella  saw  the  room  shut  up  —  the  large,  shabby, 
beautiful  room  —  the  lamps  brought  in,  fresh  wood 
thrown  on  the  fire  to  make  it  blaze,  and  the  tea-table 


MARC  ELL  A.  237 

set  out.  Then  she  sat  herself  down  on  a  low  chair  by 
the  fire,  leaning  forward  with  her  elbows  on  her  knees 
and  her  hands  clasped  in  front  of  her.  Her  black  dress 
revealed  her  fine  full  throat  and  her  white  wrists,  for 
she  had  an  impatience  of  restraint  anywhere,  and  wore 
frills  and  falls  of  black  lace  where  other  people  would 
have  followed  the  fashion  in  high  collars  and  close 
wristbands.  What  must  have  struck  any  one  with  an 
observant  eye,  as  she  sat  thus,  thrown  into  beautiful 
light  and  shade  by  the  blaze  of  the  wood  fire,  was  the 
massiveness  of  the  head  compared  with  the  nervous 
delicacy  of  much  of  the  face,  the  thinness  of  the 
wrist,  and  of  the  long  and  slender  foot  raised  on  the 
fender.  It  was  perhaps  the  great  thickness  and  full 
wave  of  the  hair  which  gave  the  head  its  breadth  ;  but 
the  effect  was  singular,  and  would  have  been  heavy 
but  for  the  glow  of  the  eyes,  which  balanced  it. 

She  was  thinking,  as  a  fiancee  should,  of  Aldous 
and  their  marriage,  which  had  been  fixed  for  the  end 
of  February.  Yet  not  apparently  with  any  rapturous 
absorption.  There  was  a  great  deal  to  plan,  and  her 
mind  was  full  of  business.  AVho  was  to  look  after  her 
various  village  schemes  while  she  and  Lady  Winter- 
bourne  were  away  in  London?  Mary  Harden  had 
hardly  brains  enough,  dear  little  thing  as  she  was. 
They  must  find  some  capable  woman  and  pay  her. 
The  Cravens  would  tell  her,  of  course,  that  she  was 
on  the  high  road  to  the  most  degrading  of  rdles  —  the 
rdle  of  Lad}^  Bountiful.  But  there  were  Lady  Bounti- 
fuls  and  Lady  Bountifuls.  And  the  rdle  itself  was  in- 
evitable. It  all  depended  upon  how  it  was  managed  — 
in  the  interest  of  what  ideas. 


238  MARCELLA. 

She  must  somehow  renew  her  relations  with  the 
Cravens  in  town.  It  would  certainly  be  in  her  power 
now  to  help  them  and  their  projects  forward  a  little. 
Of  course  they  would  distrust  her,  but  that  she  would 
get  over. 

All  the  time  she  was  listening  mechanically  for  the 
hall  door  bell,  which,  however,  across  the  distances 
of  the  great  rambling  house  it  Avas  not  easy  to  hear. 
Their  coming  guest  was  not  much  in  her  mind.  She 
tacitly  assumed  that  her  father  would  look  after  him. 
On  the  two  or  three  occasions  when  they  had  met 
during  the  last  three  months,  including  his  luncheon  at 
Mellor  on  the  day  after  her  engagement,  her  thoughts 
had  been  too  full  to  allow  her  to  take  much  notice  of 
him  —  picturesque  and  amusing  as  he  seemed  to  be. 
Of  late  he  had  not  been  much  in  the  neighbourhood. 
There  had  been  a  slack  time  for  both  candidates, 
which  was  now  to  give  way  to  a  fresh  period  of  hard 
canvassing  in  view  of  the  election  which  everybody 
expected  at  the  end  of  February. 

But  Aldous  was  to  bring  Edward  Hallin  !  That 
interested  her.  She  felt  an  intense  curiosity  to  see 
and  know  Hallin,  coupled  with  a  certain  nervousness. 
The  impression  she  might  be  able  to  make  on  him 
would  be  in  some  sense  an  earnest  of  her  future. 

Suddenly,  something  undefinable  —  a  slight  sound, 
a  current  of  air  —  made  her  turn  her  head.  To  her 
amazement  she  saw  a  young  man  in  the  doorway  look- 
ing at  her  with  smiling  eyes,  and  quietly  drawing  off 
his  gloves. 

She  sprang  up  with  a  feeling  of  annoyance. 

-Mr.  Wharton!'' 


MAR  CELL  A,  239 

"  Oh  !  —  must  you  ?  "  —  he  said,  with  a  movement  of 
one  hand,  as  though  to  stop  her.  '-  Couldn't  you  stay 
like  that  ?  At  first  I  thought  there  was  nobody  in 
the  room.  Your  servant  is  grappling  with  my  bags, 
which  are  as  the  sand  of  the  sea  for  multitude,  so  I 
wandered  in  by  myself.  Then  I  saw  you  —  and  the 
fire  —  and  the  room.  It  was  like  a  bit  of  music.  It 
was  mere  wanton  waste  to  interrupt  it." 

Marcella  flushed,  as  she  very  stiffly  shook  hands 
with  him. 

"I  did  not  hear  the  front  door,"  she  said  coldly. 
"  My  mother  will  be  here  directly.  May  I  give  you 
some  tea  ?  " 

"Thanks.  No,  I  knew  you  did  not  hear  me.  That 
delighted  me.  It  showed  what  charming  things  there 
are  in  the  world  that  have  ho  spectators !  What  a 
delicious  place  this  is  !  —  what  a  heavenly  old  place  — 
especially  in  these  half  lights  !  There  was  a  raw  sun 
when  I  was  here  before,  but  now  —  " 

He  stood  in  front  of  the  fire,  looking  round  the 
great  room,  and  at  the  few  small  lamps  making  their 
scanty  light  amid  the  flame-lit  darkness.  His  hands 
were  loosely  crossed  behind  his  back,  and  his  boyish 
face,  in  its  setting  of  curls,  shone  with  content  and 
self-possession. 

"  Well,"  said  Marcella,  bluntly,  "  I  should  prefer  a 
little  more  light  to  live  by.  Perhaps,  when  you  have 
fallen  downstairs  here  in  the  dark  as  often  as  I  have, 
you  may  too." 

He  laughed. 

"  But  how  much  better,  after  all — don't  you  think 
so  ?  — to  have  too  little  of  anything  than  too  much  I  " 


240  MARCELLA. 

He  flung  himself  into  a  chair  beside  the  tea-table, 
looking  up  with  gay  interrogation  as  Marcella  handed 
him  his  cup.  She  was  a  good  deal  surprised  by  him. 
On  the  few  occasions  of  their  previous  meetings,  these 
bright  eyes,  and  this  pronounced  manner,  had  been  — 
at  any  rate  as  towards  herself  —  much  less  free  and 
evident.  She  began  to  recover  the  start  he  had  given 
her,  and  to  study  him  with  a  half-unwilling  curiosity. 

"  Then  Mellor  will  please  you,"  she  said  drily,  in 
answer  to  his  remaA:,  carrying  her  own  tea  meanwhile 
to  a  chair  on  the  other  side  of  the  fire.  "  My  father 
never  bought  anything  —  my  father  can't.  I  believe 
we  have  chairs  enough  to  sit  down  upon — but  we 
have  no  curtains  to  half  the  windows.  Can  I  give 
you  anything  ?  " 

For  he  had  risen,  and  was  looking  over  the  tea-tray. 

"  Oh !  but  I  miist,^^  he  said  discontentedly.  "  I 
must  have  enough  sugar  in  my  tea ! " 

"  I  gave  you  more  than  the  average,"  she  said,  with 
a  sudden  little  leap  of  laughter,  as  she  came  to  his  aid. 
"  Do  all  your  principles  break  down  like  this  ?  I  was 
going  to  suggest  that  jou  might  like  some  of  that  fire 
taken  away  ?  "  And  she  pointed  to  the  pile  of  blazing 
logs  which  now  filled  up  the  great  chimney. 

"  That  fire  !  "  he  said,  shivering,  and  moving  up  to 
it.  "  Have  you  any  idea  what  sort  of  a  wind  you  keep 
up  here  on  these  hills  on  a  night  like  this  ?  And  to 
think  that  in  this  weather,  with  a  barometer  that 
laughs  in  your  face  when  you  try  to  move  it,  I  have 
three  meetings  to-morrow  night ! " 

"  When  one  loves  the  '  People,'  with  a  large  P,"  said 
Marcella,  "  one  mustn't  mind  winds." 


MABCELLA.  241 

He  flashed  a  smile  at  her,  answering  to  the  sparkle 
of  her  look,  then  applied  himself  to  his  tea  and  toasted 
bun  again,  with  the  dainty  deliberation  of  one  enjoy- 
ing every  sip  and  bite. 

"  No  ;  but  if  only  the  People  didn't  live  so  far  apart. 
Some  murderous  person  wanted  them  to  have  only 
one  neck.  I  want  them  to  have  only  one  ear.  Only 
then  unfortunately  everybody  would  speak  well  — 
which  would  bring  things  round  to  dulness  again. 
Does  Mr.  Kaeburn  make  you  think  very  bad  things  of 
me.  Miss  Boyce  ?  " 

He  bent  forward  to  her  as  he  spoke,  his  blue  eyes 
all  candour  and  mirth. 

Marcella  started. 

"  How  can  he  ?  "  she  said  abruptly.  "  I  am  not  a 
Conservative." 

"Not  a  Conservative?"  he  said  joyously.  "Oh! 
but  impossible !  Does  that  mean  that  you  ever  read 
my  poor  little  speeches  ?  " 

He  pointed  to  the  local  newspaper,  freshly  cut, 
which  lay  on  a  table  at  Marcella's  elbow. 

"  Sometimes — "  said  Marcella,  embarrassed.  "  There 
is  so  little  time." 

In  truth  she  had  hardly  given  his  candidature  a 
thought  since  the  day  Aldous  proposed  to  her.  She 
had  been  far  too  much  taken  up  with  her  own  pros- 
pects, with  Lady  Winterbourne's  friendship,  and  her 
village  schemes. 

He  laughed. 

"  Of  course  there  is.    When  is  the  great  event  to  be  ?  " 

"I  didn't  mean  that,"  said  Marcella,  stiffly.  "Lady 
Winterbourne  and  I  have  been  trying  to  start  some 

VOL.   I. — 16 


242  M ABC  ELL  A, 

village  workshops.  We  have  been  working  and  talking, 
and  writing,  morning,  noon,  and  night." 

"  Oh  !  I  know  —  yes,  I  heard  of  it.  And  yon  really 
think  anything  is  going  to  come  ont  of  finicking  little 
schemes  of  that  sort  ?  " 

His  dry  change  of  tone  drew  a  quick  look  from  her. 
The  fresh-coloured  face  was  transformed.  In  place  of 
easy  mirth  and  mischief,  she  read  an  acute  and  half 
contemptuous  attention. 

"I  don't  know  what  you  mean,"  she  said  slowly, 
after  a  pause.  "  Or  rather  —  I  do  know  quite  well. 
You  told  papa  —  didn't  you  ?  —  and  Mr.  Eaeburn  saj^s 
that  you  are  a  Socialist  —  not  half-and-half,  as  all  the 
world  is,  but  the  real  thing  ?  And  of  course  you  want 
great  changes :  you  don't  like  anything  that  might 
strengthen  the  upper  class  with  the  people.  But  that 
is  nonsense.  You  can't  get  the  changes  for  a  long 
long  time.  And,  meanwhile,  people  must  be  clothed 
and  fed  and  kept  alive." 

She  lay  back  in  her  high-backed  chair  and  looked  at 
him  defiantly.   His  lip  twitched,  but  he  kept  his  gravity. 

"  You  would  be  much  better  employed  in  forming  a 
branch  of  the  Agricultural  Union,"  he  said  decidedly. 
"What  is  the  good  of  playing  Lady  Bountiful  to  a 
decayed  industry  ?  All  that  is  childish  ;  we  want  the 
means  of  revolution.  The  people  who  are  for  reform 
shouldn't  waste  money  and  time  on  fads." 

"I  understand  all  that,"  she  said  scornfully,  her 
quick  breath  rising  and  falling.  "  Perhaps  you  don't 
know  that  I  was  a  member  of  the  Venturist  Society 
in  London  ?  What  you  say  doesn't  sound  very  new 
to  me ! " 


M ABC  ELL  A.  243 

His  seriousness  disappeared  in  laughter.  He  hastily- 
put  down  his  cup  and,  stepping  over  to  her,  held  out 
his  hand. 

"  You  a  Venturist  ?  So  am  I.  J03' !  Won't  you 
shake  hands  with  me,  as  comrades  should  ?  We  are  a 
very  mixed  set  of  people,  you  know,  and  between  our- 
selves I  don't  know  that  we  are  coming  to  much.  But 
we  can  make  an  alderman  dream  of  the  guillotine  — 
that  is  always  something.  Oh !  but  now  we  can  talk 
on  quite  a  new  footing !  " 

She  had  given  him  her  hand  for  an  instant,  with- 
drawing it  with  shy  rapidity,  and  he  had  thrown  him- 
self into  a  chair  again,  wdth  his  arms  behind  his  head, 
and  the  air  of  one  reflecting  happily  on  a  changed 
situation.  "  Quite  a  new  footing,"  he  repeated  thought- 
fully. "  But  it  is  —  a  little  surprising.  What  does 
—  what  does  Mr.  Eaeburn  say  to  it  ?  " 

"iS'othing!  He  cares  just  as  much  about  the  poor 
as  you  or  I,  please  understand  !  He  doesn't  choose 
my  way  —  but  he  won't  interfere  with  it." 

"  Ah  !  that  is  like  him  —  like  Aldous." 

Marcella  started. 

"  You  don't  mind  my  calling  him  by  his  Christian 
name  sometimes  ?  It  drops  out.  We  used  to  meet 
as  boys  together  at  the  Levens.  The  Levens  are  my 
cousins.  He  was  a  big  boy,  and  I  was  a  little  one. 
But  he  didn't  like  me.  You  see  —  I  was  a  little 
beast ! " 

His  air  of  appealing  candour  could  not  have  been 
more  engaging. 

"  Yes,  I  fear  I  was  a  little  beast.  And  he  was,  even 
then,  and   always,    ^the    good   and   beautiful.'      You 


244  MAECELLA. 

don't  understand  Greek,  do  you,  Miss  Boyce  ?  But 
he  was  very  good  to  me.  I  got  into  an  awful  scrape 
once.  I  let  out  a  pair  of  eagle  owls  that  used  to  be 
kept  in  the  courtyard  —  Sir  Charles  loved  them  a 
great  deal  more  than  his  babies  —  I  let  them  out  at 
night  for  pure  wickedness,  and  they  came  to  fearful 
ends  in  the  park.  I  was  to  have  been  sent  home  next 
day,  in  the  most  unnecessary  and  penal  hurry.  But 
Aldous  interposed  —  said  he  would  look  after  me  for 
the  rest  of  the  holidays." 

"  And  then  you  tormented  him  ?  " 

"  Oh  no  !  "  he  said  with  gentle  complacency.  "  Oh 
no  !  I  never  torment  anybody.  But  one  must  enjoy 
oneself  you  know ;  what  else  can  one  do  ?  Then 
afterwards,  when  we  were  older  —  somehow  I  don't 
know  —  but  we  didn't  get  on.  It  is  very  sad  —  I  wish 
he  thought  better  of  me." 

The  last  words  were  said  with  a  certain  change  of 
tone,  and  sitting  up  he  laid  the  tips  of  his  fingers  to- 
gether on  his  knees  with  a  little  plaintive  air.  Mar- 
cella's  eyes  danced  with  amusement,  but  she  looked 
away  from  him  to  the  fire,  and  would  not  answer. 

"  You  don't  help  me  out.  You  don't  console  me. 
It's  unkind  of  you.  Don't  you  think  it  a  melancholy 
fate  to  be  always  admiring  the  people  who  detest  you  ?  " 

"  Don't  admire  them  ! "  she  said  merrily. 

His  eyebrows  lifted.  "  That/'  he  said  drily,  "is 
disloyal.  I  call  —  I  call  your  ancestor  over  the  man- 
telpiece "  —  he  waved  his  hand  towards  a  blackened 
portrait  in  front  of  him  —  "  to  witness,  that  I  am  all 
for  admiring  Mr.  Baeburn,  and  you  discourage  it. 
Well,  but  now  —  now  "  —  he  drew  his  chair  eagerly 


MARCELLA.  245 

towards  hers,  tlie  pose  of  a  minute  before  thrown  to 
the  winds  —  "  do  let  us  understand  each  other  a  little 
more  before  people  come.  You  know  I  have  a  labour 
newspaper  ?  " 

She  nodded. 

"  You  read  it  ?  " 

"Is  it  the  Labour  Clarion?    I  take  it  in." 

"  CajDital ! "'  he  cried.  ''  Then  I  know  now  why  I 
found  a  copy  in  the  village  here.  You  lent  it  to  a  man 
called  Hurd  ?  " 

"I  did." 

"Whose  wife  worships  you?  —  whose  good  angel 
you  have  been  ?  Do  I  know  something  about  you,  or 
do  I  not  ?  Well,  now,  are  you  satisfied  with  that 
paper  ?  Can  you  suggest  to  me  means  of  improving 
it  ?  It  wants  some  fresh  blood,  I  think  —  I  must  find 
it  ?  I  bought  the  thing  last  year,  in  a  moribund  con- 
dition, with  the  old  staff.  Oh !  we  will  certainly  take 
counsel  together  about  it  —  most  certainly !  But  first 
—  I  have  been  boasting  of  knowing  something  about 
you  —  but  I  should  like  to  ask  —  do  you  know  anything 
about  me  ?  " 

Both  laughed.     Then  Marcella  tried  to  be  serious. 

"  Well  —  I  —  I  believe  —  you  have  some  land  ?  " 

"Kight!"  he  nodded  —  "I  am  a  Lincolnshire  land- 
owner. I  have  about  five  thousand  acres  —  enough  to 
be  tolerably  poor  on  —  and  enough  to  play  tricks  with. 
I  have  a  co-operative  farm,  for  instance.  At  present  I 
have  lent  them  a  goodish  sum  of  money — and  remitted 
them  their  first  half-year's  rent,  ^ot  so  far  a  paying 
speculation.  But  it  will  do  —  some  day.  Meanwhile 
the  estate  wants  money  —  and  my  plans  and  I  want 


246  3IARCELLA. 

money  —  badly.  I  propose  to  make  the  Labour  Clarion 
pay  —  if  I  can.  That  will  give  me  more  time  for 
speaking  and  organising,  for  what  concerns  us  —  as 
Venturists  —  than  the  Bar." 

"  The  Bar  ?  "  she  said,  a  little  mystified,  but  follow- 
ing every  word  with  a  fascinated  attention. 

"  I  made  myself  a  barrister  three  years  ago,  to  please 
my  mother.  She  thought  I  should  do  better  in  Parlia- 
ment—  if  ever  I  got  in.  Did  3'ou  ever  hear  of  my 
mother  ?  " 

There  was  no  escaping  these  frank,  smiling  ques- 
tions. 

"  No,"  said  Marcella,  honestly. 

"  Well,  ask  Lord  Maxwell,"  he  said,  laughing.  "  He 
and  she  came  across  each  other  once  or  twice,  when  he 
was  Home  Secretary  years  ago,  and  she  Avas  wild  about 
some  woman's  grievance  or  other.  She  always  main- 
tains that  she  got  the  better  of  him  —  no  doubt  he  was 
left  with  a  different  impression.  Well  —  my  mother  — 
most  people  thought  her  mad  —  perhaps  she  was  — but 
then  somehow  —  I  loved  her !  " 

He  was  still  smiling,  but  at  the  last  words  a  charm- 
ing vibration  crept  into  the  words,  and  his  eyes  sought 
her  with  a  young  open  demand  for  sympathy. 

"  Is  that  so  rare  ?  "  she  asked  him,  half  laughing  — 
instinctively  defending  her  o^vn  feeling  lest  it  should 
be  snatched  from  her  by  any  make-believe. 

"  Yes  —  as  we  loved  each  other  —  it  is  rare.  My 
father  died  when  I  was  ten.  She  would  not  send 
me  to  school,  and  I  was  always  in  her  pocket  —  I 
shared  all  her  interests.  She  was  a  wild  woman  — 
but  she  lived,  as  not  one  person  in  twenty  lives." 


MABCELLA.  247 

Then  lie  sighed.  Marcella  was  too  shy  to  imitate 
his  readiness  to  ask  questions.  But  she  supposed 
that  his  mother  must  be  dead  —  indeed,  now  vaguely 
remembered  to  have  heard  as  much. 

There  was  a  little  silence. 

"Please  tell  me/'  she  said  suddenly,  "why  do  you 
attack  my  straw-plaiting  ?  Is  a  co-operative  farm  any 
less  of  a  stopgap  ?  " 

Instantly  his  face  changed.  He  drew  up  his  chair 
again  beside  her,  as  gay  and  keen-eyed  as  before. 

"I  can't  argue  it  out  now.  There  is  so  much  to 
say.  But  do  listen  !  I  have  a  meeting  in  the  village 
here  next  week  to  preach  land  nationalisation.  We 
mean  to  try  and  form  a  branch  of  the  Labourers' 
Union.     Will  you  come  ?  " 

Marcella  hesitated. 

"I  think  so,"  she  said  slowly. 

There  was  a  pause.  Then  she  raised  her  eyes  and 
found  his  fixed  upon  her.  A  sudden  sympathy  —  of 
youth,  excitement,  pleasure  —  seemed  to  rise  between 
them.  She  had  a  quick  impression  of  lightness, 
grace ;  of  an  open  brow  set  in  curls ;  of  a  look  more 
intimate,  inquisitive,  commanding,  than  any  she  had 
yet  met. 

"  May  I  speak  to  you,  miss  ?  "  said  a  voice  at  the 
door. 

Marcella  rose  hastily.  Her  mother's  maid  was 
standing  there. 

She  hurried  across  the  room. 

"  What  is  the  matter.  Deacon  ?  " 

"Your  mother  says,  miss,"  said  the  maid,  retreating 
into  the  hall,  ''I  am  to  tell  you  she  can't  come  down. 


248  MABCELLA. 

Your  father  is  ill,  and  she  has  sent  for  Dr.  Clarke. 
But  you  are  please  not  to  go  up.  Will  you  give  the 
gentlemen  their  tea,  and  she  will  come  down  before 
they  go,  if  she  can." 

Marcella  had  turned  pale. 

"  Mayn't  I  go,  Deacon  ?     What  is  it  ?  " 

"It's  a  bad  lit  of  pain,  your  mother  says,  miss. 
Nothing  can  be  done  till  the  doctor  comes.  She 
h^ggQdi  particular  that  you  wouldn't  go  up,  miss.  She 
doesn't  want  any  one  put  out." 

At  the  same  moment  there  was  a  ring  at  the  outer 
door. 

"Oh,  there  is  Aldous,"  cried  Marcella,  with  relief, 
and  she  ran  out  into  the  hall  to  meet  him. 


CHAPTER  III. 

Aldous  advanced  into  the  inner  hall  at  sight  of 
Marcella,  leaving  his  companions  behind  in  the  vesti- 
bule taking  off  their  coats.     Marcella  ran  to  him. 

"  Papa  is  ill !  "  she  said  to  him  hastily.  "  Mamma 
has  sent  for  Dr.  Clarke.  She  won't  let  me  go  up,  and 
■wants  us  to  take  no  notice  and  have  tea  without  her." 

"I  am  so  sorry!  Can  we  do  anything?  The  dog- 
cart is  here  with  a  fast  horse.  If  your  messenger 
went  on  foot  —  " 

"  Oh,  no !  they  are  sure  to  have  sent  the  boy  on  the 
pony.  I  don't  know  why,  but  I  have  had  a  presenti- 
ment for  a  long  time  past  that  papa  was  going  to 
be  ill." 

She  looked  white  and  excited.  She  had  turned  back 
to  the  drawing-room,  forgetting  the  other  guests,  he 
walking  beside  her.  As  they  passed  along  the  dim 
hall,  Aldous  had  her  hand  close  in  his,  and  when  they 
passed  under  an  archway  at  the  further  end  he  stooped 
suddenly  in  the  shadows  and  kissed  the  hand.  Touch 
—  kiss  —  had  the  clinging,  the  intensity  of  passion. 
They  were  the  expression  of  all  that  had  lain  vibrat- 
ing at  the  man's  inmost  heart  during  the  dark  drive, 
while  he  had  been  chatting  with  his  two  companions. 

"My  darling!  I  hope  not.  Would  you  rather  not 
see  strangers?  Shall  I  send  Hallin  and  young  Leven 
away?     They  would  understand  at  once." 

249 


250  MARCELLA. 

"Oh,  no!  Mr.  Wharton  is  here  anyway  —  staying. 
Where  is  Mr.  Hallin?     I  had  forgotten  him." 

Aldous  turned  and  called.  Mr.  Hallin  and  young 
Frank  Leven,  divining  something  unusual,  were  look- 
ing at  the  pictures  in  the  hall. 

Edward  Hallin  came  up  and  took  Marcella's  offered 
hand.  Each  looked  at  the  other  with  a  special  atten- 
tion and  interest.  "She  holds  my  friend's  life  in 
her  hands  —  is  she  worthy  of  it?  "  was  naturally  the 
question  hanging  suspended  in  the  man's  judgment. 
The  girl's  manner  was  proud  and  shy,  the  manner  of 
one  anxious  to  please,  yet  already,  perhaps,  on  the 
defensive. 

Aldous  explained  the  position  of  affairs,  and  Hallin 
expressed  his  sympathy.  He  had  a  singularly  attrac- 
tive voice,  the  voice  indeed  of  the  orator,  which  can 
adapt  itself  with  equal  charm  and  strength  to  the  most 
various  needs  and  to  any  pitch.  As  he  spoke,  Mar- 
cella  was  conscious  of  a  sudden  impression  that  she 
already  knew  him  and  could  be  herself  with  him  at 
once. 

"  Oh,  I  say, "  broke  in  young  Leven,  who  was  stand- 
ing behind;  "don't  you  be  bothered  with  us,  Miss 
Boyce.  Just  send  us  back  at  once.  I'm  awfully 
sorry ! " 

"  No ;  you  are  to  come  in ! "  she  said,  smiling 
through  her  pallor,  which  was  beginning  to  pass  away, 
and  putting  out  her  hand  to  him  —  the  young  Eton  and 
Oxford  athlete,  just  home  for  his  Christmas  vacation, 
was  a  great  favourite  with  her  —  "  You  must  come  and 
have  tea  and  cheer  me  up  by  telling  me  all  the  things 
you  have  killed  this  week.     Is  there  anything  left 


MARCELLA.  251 

alive?  You  had  come  down  to  the  fieldfares,  you 
know,  last  Tuesday." 

He  followed  her,  laughing  and  protesting,  and  she 
led  the  way  to  the  drawing-room.  But  as  her  fingers 
were  on  the  handle  she  once  more  caught  sight  of  the 
maid,  Deacon,  standing  on  the  stairs,  and  ran  to  speak 
to  her. 

"He  is  better,"  she  said,  coming  back  with  a  face 
of  glad  relief.  "  The  attack  seems  to  be  passing  off. 
Mamma  can't  come  down,  but  she  begs  that  we  will 
all  enjoy  ourselves." 

"We'll  endeavour,"  said  young  Leven,  rubbing  his 
hands,  "by  the  help  of  tea.  Miss  Boyce,  will  you 
please  tell  Aldous  and  Mr.  Hallin  not  to  talk  politics 
when  they're  taking  me  out  to  a  party.  They  should 
fight  a  man  of  their  own  size.  I'm  all  limp  and 
trampled  on,  and  want  you  to  protect  me." 

The  group  moved,  laughing  and  talking,  into  the 
drawing-room. 

"  Jiminy ! "  said  Leven,  stopping  short  behind 
Aldous,  who  was  alone  conscious  of  the  lad's  indig- 
nant astonishment;  "'what  the  deuce  is  he  doing 
here?" 

For  there  on  the  rug,  with  his  back  to  the  fire, 
stood  Wharton,  surveying  the  party  with  his  usual 
smiling  aplomb. 

"Mr.  Hallin,  do  you  know  Mr.  Wharton?"  said 
Marcella. 

"Mr.  Wharton  and  I  have  met  several  times  on 
public  platforms,"  said  Hallin,  holding  out  his  hand, 
which  Wharton  took  with  effusion.  Aldous  greeted 
him  with  the  impassive  manner,  the  "three  finger" 


252  MARCELLA. 

manner,  whicli  was  with  him  an  inheritance  —  though 
not  from  his  grandfather  —  and  did  not  contribute  to 
his  popularity  in  the  neighbourhood.  As  for  young 
LeveUj  he  barely  nodded  to  the  Radical  candidate,  and 
threw  himself  into  a  chair  as  far  from  the  fire  as 
possible. 

"  Frank  and  I  have  met  before  to-day !  "  said  Whar- 
ton, laughing. 

''Yes,  I've  been  trying  to  undo  some  of  your  mis- 
chief," said  the  boy,  bluntly.  ''I  found  him.  Miss 
Boyce,  haranguing  a  lot  of  men  at  the  dinner-hour  at 
Tudley  End  —  one  of  our  villages,  you  know  —  cram- 
ming them  like  anything  —  all  about  the  game  laws, 
and  our  misdeeds  —  my  father's,  of  course." 

Wharton  raised  a  protesting  hand. 

"Oh  —  all  very  well!  Of  course  it  was  us  you 
meant!  Well,  when  he'd  driven  oif,  I  got  up  on  a 
cart  and  had  my  say.  I  asked  them  whether  they 
didn't  all  come  out  at  our  big  shoots,  and  whether 
they  didn't  have  almost  as  much  fun  as  we  did  —  why ! 
the  schoolmaster  and  the  postman  come  to  ask  to 
carry  cartridges,  and  everybody  turns  out,  down  to  the 
cripples!  —  whether  they  didn't  have  rabbits  given 
them  all  the  year  round;  whether  half  of  them  hadn't 
brothers  and  sons  employed  somehow  about  the  game, 
well-paid,  and  well -treated ;  whether  any  man -jack  of 
them  would  be  a  ha'porth  better  off  if  there  were  no 
game;  whether  many  of  them  wouldn't  be  worse  off; 
and  whether  England  wouldn't  be  a  beastly  dull  place 
to  live  in,  if  people  like  him  "  —  he  pointed  to  Whar- 
ton—  "had  the  governing  of  it!  And  I  brought  'em 
all  round  too.     I  got  them  cheering  and  laughing. 


MARC  ELL  A.  253 

Oh!  I  can  tell  you  old  Dodgson  '11  have  to  take  me 
on.  He  says  he'll  ask  me  to  speak  for  him  at  several 
places.     I'm  not  half  bad,  I  declare  I'm  not." 

"I  thought  they  gave  you  a  holiday  task  at  Eton," 
observed  Wharton,  blandly. 

The  lad  coloured  hotly,  then  bethought  himself  — 
radiant :  — 

"  I  left  Eton  last  half,  as  of  course  you  know  quite 
well.  But  if  it  had  only  been  last  Christmas  instead 
of  this,  wouldn't  I  have  scored  —  by  Jove!  They 
gave  us  a  beastly  essay  instead  of  a  book.  'Dem- 
agogues ! '  I  sat  up  all  night,  and  screwed  out  a 
page  and  a  half.  I'd  have  known  something  about 
it  now." 

And  as  he  stood  beside  the  tea-table,  waiting  for 
Marcella  to  entrust  some  tea  to  him  for  distribution, 
he  turned  and  made  a  profound  bow  to  his  candidate 
cousin. 

Everybody  joined  in  th-e  laugh,  led  by  Wharton. 
Then  there  was  a  general  drawing  up  of  chairs,  and 
Marcella  applied  herself  to  making  tea,  helped  by 
Aldous.  Wharton  alone  remained  standing  before 
the  fire,  observant  and  apart. 

Hallin,  whose  health  at  this  moment  made  all  exer- 
tion, even  a  drive,  something  of  a  burden,  sat  a  little 
away  from  the  tea-table,  resting,  and  glad  to  be 
silent.  Yet  all  the  time  he  was  observing  the  girl 
presiding  and  the  man  beside  her  —  his  friend,  her 
lover.  The  moment  had  a  peculiar,  perhaps  a  mel- 
ancholy interest  for  him.  So  close  had  been  the  bond 
between  himself  and  Aldous,  that  the  lover's  com- 
munication of   his   engagement   had   evoked   in   the 


254  MARCELLA. 

friend  that  sense  —  poignant,  inevitable  —  which  in 
the  realm  of  the  affections  always  waits  on  something 
done  and  finished, —  a  leaf  turned,  a  chapter  closed. 
"  That  sad  word,  Joy !  "  Hallin  was  alone  and  ill  when 
Raeburn's  letter  reached  him,  and  through  the  follow- 
ing day  and  night  he  was  haunted  by  Landor's  phrase, 
long  familiar  and  significant  to  him.  His  letter  to 
his  friend,  and  the  letter  to  Miss  Boyce  for  which 
Raeburn  had  asked  him,  had  cost  him  an  invalid's 
contribution  of  sleep  and  ease.  The  girl's  answer 
had  seemed  to  him  constrained  and  young,  though 
touched  here  and  there  with  a  certain  fineness  and 
largeness  of  phrase,  which,  if  it  was  to  be  taken  as 
an  index  of  character,  no  doubt  threw  light  upon  the 
matter  so  far  as  Aldous  was  concerned. 

Her  beauty,  of  which  he  had  heard  much,  now  that 
he  was  face  to  face  with  it,  was  certainly  striking 
enough  —  all  the  more  because  of  its  immaturity,  the 
subtlety  and  uncertainty  of  its  promise.  Immaturity 
—  uncertainty  —  these  words  returned  upon  him  as  he 
observed  her  manner  with  its  occasional  awkwardness, 
the  awkwardness  which  goes  with  power  not  yet  fully 
explored  or  mastered  by  its  possessor.  How  Aldous 
hung  upon  her,  following  every  movement,  antici- 
pating every  want!  After  a  while  Hallin  found  him- 
self half-inclined  to  Mr.  Boyce's  view,  that  men  of 
Raeburn's  type  are  never  seen  to  advantage  in  this 
stage  —  this  queer  topsy-turvy  stage  —  of  first  passion. 
He  felt  a  certain  impatience,  a  certain  jealousy  for 
his  friend's  dignity.  It  seemed  to  him  too,  every 
now  and  then,  that  she  —  the  girl  —  was  teased  by  all 
this  absorption,  this  deference.     He  was  conscious  of 


MARCELLA.  255 

watching  for  something  in  her  that  did  not  appear; 
and  a  first  prescience  of  things  anxious  or  untoward 
stirred  in  his  quick  sense. 

"You  may  all  say  what  you  like,"  said  Marcella, 
suddenly,  putting  down  her  cup,  and  letting  her  hand 
drop  for  emphasis  on  her  knee ;  "  but  you  will  never 
persuade  me  that  game-preserving  doesn't  make  life 
in  the  country  much  more  difficult,  and  the  difference 
between  classes  much  wider  and  bitterer,  than  they 
need  be." 

The  remark  cut  across  some  rattling  talk  of  Erank 
Leven's,  who  was  in  the  first  flush  of  the  sportsman's 
ardour,  and,  though  by  no  means  without  parts,  could 
at  the  present  moment  apply  his  mind  to  little  else 
than  killing  of  one  kind  or  another,  unless  it  were 
to  the  chances  of  keeping  his  odious  cousin  out  of 
Parliament. 

Leven  stared.  Miss  Boyce's  speech  seemed  to  him 
to  have  no  sort  of  d  propos.  Aldous  looked  down 
upon  her  as  he  stood  beside  her,  smiling. 

"I  wish  you  didn't  trouble  yourself  so  much  about 
it,"  he  said. 

"How  can  I  help  it?"  she  answered  quickly;  and 
then  flushed,  like  one  who  has  drawn  attention  indis- 
creetly to  their  own  personal  situation. 

"Trouble  herself!"  echoed  young  Leven.  "iSTow, 
look  here  Miss  Boyce,  will  you  come  for  a  walk  with 
me?  I'll  convince  you,  as  I  convinced  those  fellows 
over  there.  I  know  I  could,  and  you  won't  give  me 
the  chance;  it's  too  bad." 

"Oh,  you!  "  she  said,  with  a  little  shrug;  "what  do 
you  know  about  it?     One  might  as  well  consult  a 


256  MARCELLA. 

gambler  about  gambling  when  he  is  in  the  middle  of 
his  first  rush  of  luck.  I  have  ten  times  more  right  to 
an  opinion  than  you  have.  I  can  keep  my  head  cool, 
and  notice  a  hundred  things  that  you  would  never  see. 
I  come  fresh  into  your  country  life,  and  the  first  thing 
that  strikes  me  is  that  the  whole  machinery  of  law 
and  order  seems  to  exist  for  nothing  in  the  world  but 
to  protect  your  pheasants !  There  are  policemen  — 
to  catch  poachers;  there  are  magistrates  —  to  try 
them.  To  judge  from  the  newspapers,  at  least,  they 
have  nothing  else  to  do.  And  if  you  follow  your 
sporting  instincts,  you  are  a  very  fine  fellow,  and 
everybody  admires  you.  But  if  a  shoemaker's  son  in 
Mellor  follows  his,  he  is  a  villain  and  a  thief,  and  the 
policeman  and  the  magistrate  make  for  him  at  once." 

"But  I  don't  steal  his  chickens!"  cried  the  lad, 
choking  with  arguments  and  exasperation ;  "  and  why 
should  he  steal  my  pheasants?  I  paid  for  the  eggs,  I 
paid  for  the  hens  to  sit  on  'em,  I  paid  for  the  coops  to 
rear  them  in,  I  paid  the  men  to  watch  them,  I  paid  for 
the  barley  to  feed  them  with :  why  is  he  to  be  allowed 
to  take  my  property,  and  I  am  to  be  sent  to  jail  if  I 
take  his?" 

"  Property ! "  said  Marcella,  scornfully.  ''  You  can't 
settle  everything  nowadays  by  that  big  word.  We 
are  coming  to  put  the  public  good  before  property. 
If  the  nation  should  decide  to  curtail  your  'right,'  as 
you  call  it,  in  the  general  interest,  it  will  do  it,  and 
you  will  be  left  to  scream." 

She  had  flung  her  arm  round  the  back  of  her  chair, 
and  all  her  lithe  young  frame  was  tense  with  an 
eagerness,  nay,  an  excitement,  which  drew  Hallin's 


MARCELLA.  257 

attention.     It  was  more  than  was  warranted  by  the 
conversation,  he  thought. 

^'  Well,  if  you  think  the  abolition  of  game  preserv- 
ing would  be  popular  in  the  country.  Miss  Boyce,  I'm 
certain  you  make  a  precious  mistake,"  cried  Leven. 
"  Why,  even  you  don't  think  it  would  be,  do  you,  Mr. 
Hallin?  "  he  said,  appealing  at  random  in  his  disgust. 

"I  don't  know,"  said  Hallin,  with  his  quiet  smile. 
"I  rather  think,  on  the  whole,  it  would  be.  The 
farmers  put  up  with  it,  but  a  great  many  of  them 
don't  like  it.  Things  are  mended  since  the  Ground 
Game  Act,  but  there  are  a  good  many  grievances  still 
left." 

"  I  should  think  there  are !  "  said  Marcella,  eagerly, 
bending  forward  to  him.  "I  was  talking  to  one  of 
our  farmers  the  other  day  whose  land  goes  up  to  the 
edge  of  Lord  Winterbourne's  woods.  '  They  don't 
keep  their  pheasants,  miss,'  he  said.  '7  do.  I  and 
my  corn.  If  I  didn't  send  a  man  up  half -past  five  in 
the  morning,  when  the  ears  begin  to  fill,  there 'd  be 
nothing  left  for  us. '  'Why  don't  you  complain  to  the 
agent?'  I  said.  'Complain!  Lor'  bless  you,  miss, 
you  may  complain  till  you're  black  in  the  face.  I've 
alius  found  —  an'  I've  been  here,  man  and  boy,  thirty- 
two  year  —  as  how  Winterbournes  generally  best  it.'' 
There  you  have  the  whole  thing  in  a  nutshell.  It's 
a  tyranny  —  a  tyranny  of  the  rich." 

Flushed  and  sarcastic,  she  looked  at  Frank  Leven; 
but  Hallin  had  an  uncomfortable  feeling  that  the 
sarcasm  was  not  all  meant  for  him.  Aldous  was  sit- 
ting with  his  hands  on  his  knees,  and  his  head  bent 
forward  a  little.    Once,  as  the  talk  ran  on,  Hallin  saw 

VOL.    I.  — 17 


258  MAECELLA. 

him  raise  his  grey  eyes  to  the  girl  beside  him,  who 
certainly  did  not  notice  it,  and  was  not  thinking  of 
him.  There  was  a  curious  pain  and  perplexity  in  the 
expression,  but  something  else  too  —  a  hunger,  a 
dependence,  a  yearning,  that  for  an  instant  gripped 
the  friend's  heart. 

"  Well,  I  know  Aldous  doesn't  agree  with  you,  ^liss 
Boyce,"  cried  Leven,  looking  about  him  in  his  indig- 
nation for  some  argument  that  should  be  final.  "  You 
don't,  do  you,  Aldous?  You  don't  think  the  country 
would  be  the  better,  if  we  could  do  away  with  game 
to-morrow?  " 

"  No  more  than  I  think  it  would  be  the  better, "  said 
Aldous,  quietly,  "  if  we  could  do  away  with  gold  plate 
and  false  hair  to-morrow.  There  would  be  too  many 
hungry  goldsmiths  and  wig-makers  on  the  streets." 

Marcella  turned  to  him,  half  defiant,  half  softened. 

"Of  course,  your  point  lies  in  to-inorrow,"  she  said. 
"  I  accept  that.  We  can't  carry  reform  by  starving 
innocent  people.  But  the  question  is,  what  are  we  to 
work  towards?  Mayn't  we  regard  the  game  laws  as 
one  of  the  obvious  crying  abuses  to  be  attacked  first  — 
in  the  great  campaign !  —  the  campaign  which  is  to 
bring  liberty  and  self-respect  back  to  the  country 
districts,  and  make  the  labourer  feel  himself  as  much 
of  a  man  as  the  squire?  " 

''What  a  head!  What  an  attitude!"  thought 
Hallin,  half  repelled,  half  fascinated.  "But  a  girl 
that  can  talk  politics  —  hostile  politics  —  to  her  lover, 
and  mean  them  too  —  or  am  I  inexperienced?  —  and  is 
it  merely  that  she  is  so  much  interested  in  him  that 
she  wants  to  be  quarrelling  with  him?" 


MARCELLA.  259 

Aldous  looked  up.  ''I  am  not  sure,"  he  said, 
answering  her.  "That  is  always  my  difficulty,  you 
know,"  and  he  smiled  at  her.  "Game  preserving  is 
not  to  me  personally  an  attractive  form  of  private 
property,  but  it  seems  to  me  bound  up  with  other 
forms,  and  I  want  to  see  where  the  attack  is  going  to 
lead  me.  But  I  would  protect  your  farmer  —  mind! 
—  as  zealously  as  you." 

Hallin  caught  the  impatient  quiver  of  the  girl's  lip. 
The  tea  had  just  been  taken  away,  and  Marcella  had 
gone  to  sit  upon  an  old  sofa  near  the  fire,  whither 
Aldous  had  followed  her.  Wharton,  who  had  so  far 
said  nothing,  had  left  his  post  of  observation  on  the 
hearth-rug,  and  was  sitting  under  the  lamp  balancing 
a  paper-knife  with  great  attention  on  two  fingers.  In 
the  half  light  Hallin  by  chance  saw  a  movement  of 
Raeburn's  hand  towards  Marcella's,  which  lay  hidden 
among  the  folds  of  her  dress  —  quick  resistance  on  her 
part,  then  acquiescence.  He  felt  a  sudden  pleasure 
in  his  friend's  small  triumph. 

"Aldous  and  I  have  worn  these  things  threadbare 
many  a  time,"  he  said,  addressing  his  hostess.  "You 
don't  know  how  kind  he  is  to  my  dreams.  I  am  no 
sportsman  and  have  no  landowning  relations,  so  he 
ought  to  bid  me  hold  my  tongue.  But  he  lets  me  rave. 
To  me  the  simple  fact  is  that  game  preserving  creates 
crime.  Agricultural  life  is  naturally  simpler  —  might 
be,  it  always  seems  to  me,  so  much  more  easily 
moralised  and  fraternised  than  the  industrial  form. 
And  you  split  it  up  and  poison  it  all  by  the  emphasis 
laid  on  this  class  pleasure.  It  is  a  natural  pleasure, 
you  say.     Perhaps   it  is  —  the  survival,  perhaps,  of 


260  MARCELLA. 

some  primitive  instinct  in  our  northern  blood  —  but, 
if  so,  why  should  it  be  impossible  for  the  rich  to  share 
it  with  the  poor?  I  have  little  plans  —  dreams.  I 
throw  them  out  sometimes  to  catch  Aldous,  but  he 
hardly  rises  to  them !  " 

"Oh!  I  sa?/,"  broke  in  Frank  Leven,  who  could 
really  bear  it  no  longer.  "Xow  look  here.  Miss 
Boyce, — what  do  you  think  Mr.  Hallin  wants?  It 
is  just  sheer  lunacy  —  it  really  is  —  though  I  know 
I'm  impertinent,  and  he's  a  great  man.  But  I  do 
declare  he  wants  Aldous  to  give  up  a  big  common 
there  is  —  oh !  over  beyond  Girtstone,  down  in  the 
plain  —  on  Lord  Maxwell's  estate,  and  make  a  labour- 
ers^ shoot  of  it!  Now,  I  ask  you!  And  he  vows  he 
doesn't  see  why  they  shouldn't  rear  pheasants  if  they 
choose  to  club  and  i)ay  for  it.  Well,  I  will  say  that 
much  for  him,  Aldous  didn't  see  his  way  to  that, 
though  he  isn't  tlie  kind  of  Conservative  /want  to  see 
in  Parliament  by  along  way.  Besides,  it's  such  stuff! 
They  say  sport  brutalises  us,  and  then  they  want  to 
go  and  contaminate  the  labourer.  But  we  won't  take 
the  responsibility.  We've  got  our  own  vices,  and 
we'll  stick  to  them ;  we're  used  to  them ;  but  we  won't 
hand  them  on:  we'd  scorn  the  action." 

The  flushed  young  barbarian,  driven  to  bay,  was 
not  to  be  resisted.  Marcella  laughed  heartily,  and 
Hallin  laid  an  affectionate  hand  on  the  boy's  shoulder, 
patting  him  as  though  he  were  a  restive  horse. 

"  Yes,  I  remember  I  was  puzzled  as  to  the  details  of 
Hallin's  scheme,"  said  Aldous,  his  mouth  twitching. 
"  I  wanted  to  know  who  was  to  pay  for  the  licences ; 
how  game  enough  for  the  number  of  applicants  was 


MAR  CELL  A.  261 

to  be  got  without  preserving;  and  how  men  earning 
twelve  or  fourteen  shillings  a  week  were  to  pay  a 
keeper.  Then  I  asked  a  clergyman  who  has  a  living 
near  this  common  what  he  thought  would  be  the  end 
of  it.  'Well/  he  said,  'the  first  day  they'd  shoot 
every  animal  on  the  place;  the  second  day  they'd 
shoot  each  other.  Universal  carnage  —  I  should  say 
that  would  be  about  the  end  of  it.'  These  were 
trifles,  of  course  —  details." 

Hallin  shook  his  head  serenely. 

"I  still  maintain,"  he  said,  ''that  a  little  practical 
ingenuity  might  have  found  a  way." 

"And  I  will  support  you,"  said  Wharton,  laying 
down  the  paper-knife  and  bending  over  to  Hallin, 
"with  good  reason.  For  three  years  and  a  few 
months  just  such  an  idea  as  you  describe  has  been 
carried  out  on  my  own  estate,  and  it  has  not  worked 
badly  at  all." 

"  There !  "  cried  Marcella.  "  There !  I  knew  some- 
thing could  be  done,  if  there  was  a  will.  I  have 
always  felt  it." 

She  half  turned  to  Aldous,  then  bent  forward  in- 
stead as  though  listening  eagerly  for  what  more 
Wharton  might  say,  her  face  all  alive,  and  eloquent. 

"  Of  course,  there  was  nothing  to  shoot !  "  exclaimed 
Frank  Leven. 

"On  the  contrary,"  said  Wharton,  smiling,  "we 
are  in  the  middle  of  a  famous  partridge  country." 

"  How  your  neighbours  must  dote  on  you ! "  cried 
the  boy.     But  Wharton  took  no  notice. 

"And  my  father  preserved  strictly,"  he  went  on. 
"  It  is  quite  a  simple  story.     When  I  inherited,  three 


262  MABCELLA. 

years  ago,  I  thought  the  whole  thing  detestable,  and 
determined  I  wouldn't  be  responsible  for  keeping  it 
up.  So  I  called  the  estate  together  —  farmers  and 
labourers  —  and  we  worked  out  a  plan.  There  are 
keepers,  but  they  are  the  estate  servants,  not  mine. 
Everybody  has  his  turn  according  to  the  rules  —  I  and 
my  friends  along  with  the  rest.  Not  everybody  can 
shoot  every  year,  but  everybody  gets  his  chance,  and, 
moreover,  a  certain  percentage  of  all  the  game  killed 
is  public  propertj^,  and  is  distributed  every  year 
according  to  a  regular  order." 

"Who  pays  the  keepers?"  interrupted  Leven. 

"I  do,"  said  Wharton,  smiling  again.  ''Mayn't  I 
—  for  the  present  —  do  what  I  will  with  mine  own? 
I  return  in  their  wages  some  of  my  ill-gotten  gains  as 
a  landowner.     It  is  all  makeshift,  of  course." 

"  I  understand !  "  exclaimed  Marcella,  nodding  to 
him  —  "  you  could  not  be  a  Venturist  and  keep  up 
game-preserving?  " 

Wharton  met  her  bright  eye  with  a  half  deprecat- 
ing, reserved  air. 

"You  are  right,  of  course,"  he  said  drily.  "For  a 
Socialist  to  be  letting  his  keepers  run  in  a  man  earn- 
ing twelve  shillings  a  week  for  knocking  over  a  rab- 
bit would  have  been  a  little  strong.  No  one  can  be 
consistent  in  my  position  —  in  any  landowner's  posi- 
tion—  it  is  impossible;  still,  thank  Heaven,  one  can 
deal  with  the  most  glaring  matters.  As  Mr.  Eaeburn 
said,  however,  all  this  game  business  is,  of  course,  a 
mere  incident  of  the  general  land  and  property  sys- 
tem, as  you  will  hear  me  expound  when  you  come  to 
that  meeting  you  promised  me  to  honour." 


MABCELLA.  263 

He  stooped  forward,  scanuing  her  with  smiling 
deference.  Marcella  felt  the  man's  hand  that  held 
her  own  suddenly  tighten  an  instant.  Then  Aldous 
released  her,  and  rising  walked  towards  the  fire. 

"You're  not  going  to  one  of  his  meetings,  Miss 
Boyce !  "  cried  Frank,  in  angry  incredulity. 

Marcella  hesitated  an  instant,  half  angry  with 
Wharton.  Then  she  reddened  and  threw  back  her 
dark  head  with  the  passionate  gesture  Hallin  had 
already  noticed  as  characteristic. 

"  Mayn't  I  go  where  I  belong?  "  she  said  —  "  where 
my  convictions  lead  me?" 

There  was  a  moment's  awkward  silence.  Then 
Hallin  got  up. 

"Miss  Boyce,  may  we  see  the  house?  Aldous  has 
told  me  much  of  it." 

Presently,  in  the  midst  of  their  straggling  prog- 
ress through  the  half-furnished  rooms  of  the  garden 
front,  preceded  by  the  shy  footman  carrying  a  lamp, 
which  served  for  little  more  than  to  make  darkness 
visible,  Marcella  found  herself  left  behind  with 
Aldous.  As  soon  as  she  felt  that  they  were  alone, 
she  realised  a  jar  between  herself  and  him.  His 
manner  was  much  as  usual,  but  there  was  an  under- 
l3'ing  effort  and  difficulty  which  her  sensitiveness 
caught  at  once.  A  sudden  wave  of  girlish  trouble 
—  remorse  —  swept  over  her.  In  her  impulsiveness 
she  moved  close  to  him  as  they  were  passing  through 
her  mother's  little  sitting-room,  and  put  lier  hand  on 
his  arm. 

"  I  don't  think  I  was  nice  just  now,"  she  said,  staiii- 


264  MARCELLA. 

mering.  "I  didn't  mean  it.  I  seem  to  be  always 
driven  into  opposition  —  into  a  feeling  of  war  —  when 
you  are  so  good  to  me  —  so  much  too  good  to  me !  " 

Aldous  had  turned  at  her  first  word.  With  a  long 
breath,  as  it  were  of  unspeakable  relief,  he  caught  her 
in  his  arms  vehemently,  passionately.  So  far  she 
had  been  very  shrinking  and  maidenly  with  him  in 
their  solitary  moments,  and  he  had  been  all  delicate 
chivalry  and  respect,  tasting  to  the  full  the  exqui- 
siteness  of  each  fresh  advance  towards  intimacy, 
towards  lover's  privilege,  adoring  her,  perhaps,  all 
the  more  for  her  reserve,  her  sudden  flights,  and 
stiffenings.  But  to-night  he  asked  no  leave,  and  in 
her  astonishment  she  was  almost  passive. 

"  Oh,  do  let  me  go !  "  she  cried  at  last,  trying  to 
disengage  herself  completely. 

"  No !  "  he  said  with  emphasis,  still  holding  her 
hand  firmly.  "  Come  and  sit  down  here.  They  will 
look  after  themselves." 

He  put  her,  whether  she  would  or  no,  into  an  arm- 
chair and  knelt  beside  her. 

"  Did  you  think  it  was  hardly  kind, "  he  said  with 
a  quiver  of  voice  he  could  not  repress,  "  to  let  me  hear 
for  the  first  time,  in  public,  that  you  had  promised 
to  go  to  one  of  that  man's  meetings  after  refusing 
again  and  again  to  come  to  any  of  mine?" 

"Do  you  want  to  forbid  me  to  go?"  she  said 
quickly.  There  was  a  feeling  in  her  which  would 
have  been  almost  relieved,  for  the  moment,  if  he  had 
said  yes. 

"By  no  means,"  he  said  steadily.  "That  was  not 
our  compact.     But  —  guess  for  yourself  what  I  want! 


mahcella.  265 

Do  you  think  "  —  he  paused  a  moment  —  "  do  you 
think  I  put  nothing  of  myself  into  my  public  life  — 
into  these  meetings  among  the  people  who  have  known 
me  from  a  boy?  Do  you  think  it  is  all  a  convention 
—  that  my  feeling,  my  conscience,  remain  outside? 
You  can't  think  that !  But  if  not,  how  can  I  bear  to 
live  what  is  to  be  so  large  a  part  of  my  life  out  of 
your  ken  and  sight?  I  know  —  I  know  —  you  warned 
me  amply  —  you  can't  agree  with  me.  But  there  is 
much  besides  intellectual  agreement  possible  —  much 
that  would  help  and  teach  us  both  —  if  only  we  are 
together  —  not  separated  —  not  holding  aloof  —  " 

He  stopped,  watching  all  the  changes  of  her  face. 
She  was  gulfed  in  a  deep  wave  of  half -repentant  feel- 
ing, remembering  all  his  generosity,  his  forbearance, 
his  devotion. 

"When  are  you  speaking  next?"  she  half  whis- 
pered. In  the  dim  light  her  softened  pose,  the 
gentle  sudden  relaxation  of  every  line,  were  an  in- 
toxication. 

"Xext  week  —  Friday  —  at  Gairsly.  Hallin  and 
Aunt  Xeta  are  coming." 

"Will  Miss  Eaeburn  take  me?" 

His  grey  eyes  shone  upon  her,  and  he  kissed  her 
hand. 

"  Mr.  Hallin  won't  speak  for  you !  "  she  said,  after 
the  silence,  with  a  return  of  mischief. 

"  Don't  be  so  sure !  He  has  given  me  untold  help 
in  the  drafting  of  my  Bill.  If  I  didn't  call  myself 
a  Conservative,  he  would  vote  for  me  to-morrow. 
That's  the  absurdity  of  it.  Do  you  know,  I  hear 
them  comintj:  back?" 


266  MARCELLA. 

"  One  thing,"  she  said  hastily,  drawing  him  towards 
her,  and  then  holding  him  back,  as  though  shrinking 
always  from  the  feeling  she  could  so  readily  evoke. 
"I  must  say  it;  you  oughtn't  to  give  me  so  much 
money,  it  is  too  much.  Suppose  I  use  it  for  things 
you  don't  like?" 

"You  won't,"  he  said  gaily. 

She  tried  to  push  the  subject  further,  but  he  would 
not  have  it. 

''I  am  all  for  free  discussion,"  he  said  in  the  same 
tone ;  ''  but  sometimes  debate  must  be  stifled.  I  am 
going  to  stifle  it !  " 

And  stooping,  he  kissed  her,  lightly,  tremulously. 
His  manner  showed  her  once  more  what  she  was  to 
him  —  how  sacred,  how  beloved.  First  it  touched 
and  shook  her;  then  she  s]3rang  up  with  a  sudden 
disagreeable  sense  of  moral  disadvantage  —  inferi- 
ority —  coming  she  knew  not  whence,  and  undoing 
for  the  moment  all  that  buoyant  consciousness  of 
playing  the  magnanimous,  disinterested  part  which 
had  possessed  her  throughout  the  talk  in  the  drawing- 
room. 

The  others  reappeared,  headed  by  their  lamp: 
Wharton  first,  scanning  the  two  who  had  lingered 
behind,  with  his  curious  eyes,  so  blue  and  brilliant 
under  the  white  forehead  and  the  curls. 

"  We  have  been  making  the  wildest  shots  at  j^our 
ancestors.  Miss  Boyce,"  he  said.  "Frank  professed 
to  know  everything  about  the  pictures,  and  turned  out 
to  know  nothing.  I  shall  ask  for  some  special  coach- 
ing to-morrow  morning.  May  I  engage  you  —  ten 
o'clock?" 


MARCELLA.  267 

Marcella  made  some  evasive  answer,  and  they  all 
sauntered  back  to  the  drawing-room. 

"Shall  you  be  at  work  to-morrow,  Raeburn?"  said 
Wharton. 

'•Probably,"  said  Aldous  drily.  Marcella,  struck 
by  the  tone,  looked  back,  and  caught  an  expression 
and  bearing  which  were  as  yet  new  to  her  in  the 
speaker.  She  supposed  they  represented  the  haughti- 
ness natural  in  the  man  of  birth  and  power  towards 
the  intruder,  who  is  also  the  opponent. 

Instantly  the  combative  critical  mood  returned 
upon  her,  and  the  impulse  to  assert  herself  by  pro- 
tecting Wharton.  His  manner  throughout  the  talk 
in  the  drawing-room  had  been,  she  declared  to  her- 
self, excellent  —  modest,  and  self -restrained,  compar- 
ing curiously  with  the  boj'ish  egotism  and  self- 
abandonment  he  had  shown  in  their  tete-cl-tete. 

"Why,  there  is  Mr.  Boyce,"  exclaimed  Wharton, 
hurrying  forward  as  they  entered  the  drawing-room. 

There,  indeed,  on  the  sofa  was  the  master  of  the 
house,  more  ghastly  black  and  white  than  ever,  and 
prepared  to  claim  to  the  utmost  the  tragic  pre- 
eminence of  illness.  He  shook  hands  coldly  Avith 
Aldous,  who  asked  after  his  health  with  the  kindly 
brevity  natural  to  the  man  who  wants  no  effusions  for 
himself  in  public  or  personal  matters,  and  concludes 
therefore  that  other  people  desire  none. 

" You  are  better,  papa?"  said  Marcella,  taking  his 
hand. 

"  Certainly,  my  dear  —  better  for  morphia.  Don't 
talk  of  me.     I  have  got  my  death  warrant,  but  I  hope 


268  MABCELLA. 

I  can  take  it  quietly.  Evelyn,  I  specially  asked  to 
have  that  thin  cushion  brought  down  from  my  dressing- 
room.  It  is  strange  that  no  one  pays  any  attention 
to  my  wants." 

Mrs.  Boyce,  almost  as  white,  Marcella  now  saw,  as 
her  husband,  moved  forward  from  the  fire,  where  she 
had  been  speaking  to  Hallin,  took  a  cushion  from  a 
chair  near,  exactly  similar  to  the  one  he  missed,  and 
changed  his  position  a  little. 

"It  is  just  the  feather's  weight  of  change  that 
makes  the  difference,  isn't  it?"  said  Wharton,  softly, 
sitting  down  beside  the  invalid. 

Mr.  Boyce  turned  a  mollified  countenance  upon  the 
speaker,  and  being  now  free  from  pain,  gave  himself 
up  to  the  amusement  of  hearing  his  guest  talk. 
Wharton  devoted  himself,  employing  all  his  best  arts. 

"Dr.  Clarke  is  not  anxious  about  him,"  Mrs.  Boyce 
said  in  a  low  voice  to  Marcella  as  they  moved  away. 
"  He  does  not  think  the  attack  will  return  for  a  long 
'while,  and  he  has  given  me  the  means  of  stopping  it 
if  it  does  come  back." 

"  How  tired  you  look !  "  said  Aldous,  coming  up  to 
them,  and  speaking  in  the  same  undertone.  "Will 
you  not  let  Marcella  take  you  to  rest?  " 

He  was  always  deeply,  unreasonably  touched  by 
any  sign  of  stoicism,  of  defied  suffering  in  women. 
Mrs.  Boyce  had  proved  it  many  times  already.  On 
the  present  occasion  she  put  his  sympathy  by,  but  she 
lingered  to  talk  with  him.  Hallin  from  a  distance 
noticed  first  of  all  her  tall  thinness  and  fairness,  and 
her  wonderful  dignity  of  carriage ;  then  the  cordiality 
of  her  manner  to  her   future  son-in-law.     Marcella 


MARCELLA.  269 

stood  by  listening,  her  young  shoulders  somewhat 
stiffly  set.  Her  consciousness  of  her  mother's  respect 
and  admiration  for  the  man  she  was  to  marry  was, 
oddly  enough,  never  altogether  pleasant  to  her.  It 
brought  with  it  a  certain  discomfort,  a  certain  wish 
to  argue  things  out. 

Hallin  and  Aldous  parted  with  Frank  Leven  at 
Mellor  gate,  and  turned  homeward  together  under  a 
starry  heaven  already  whitening  to  the  coming  moon. 

"Do  you  know  that  man  Wharton  is  getting  an 
extraordinary  hold  upon  the  London  working  men?  " 
said  Hallin.  '^  I  have  heard  him  tell  that  story  of  the 
game-preserving  before.  He  was  speaking  for  one  of 
the  Eadical  candidates  at  Hackney,  and  I  happened 
to  be  there.  It  brought  down  the  house.  The  rdle 
of  your  Socialist  aristocrat,  of  your  land-nationalising 
landlord,  is  a  very  telling  one." 

"And  comparatively  easy,"  said  Aldous,  "when 
you  know  that  neither  Socialism  nor  land-nationalisa- 
tion will  come  in  your  time !  " 

"Oh!  so  you  think  him  altogether  a  windbag?" 

Aldous  hesitated  and  laughed. 

"  I  have  certainly  no  reason  to  suspect  him  of  prin- 
ciples. His  conscience  as  a  boy  was  of  pretty  elastic 
stuff." 

"You  may  be  unfair  to  him,"  said  Hallin,  quickly. 
Then,  after  a  pause:  "How  long  is  he  staying  at 
Mellor?  " 

"About  a  week,  I  believe,"  said  Aldous,  shortly. 
"Mr.  Boyce  has  taken  a  fancy  to  him." 

They  walked  on  in  silence,  and  then  Aldous  turned 
to  his  friend  in  distress. 


270  MARCELLA. 

"'  You  know,  Hallin,  this  wind  is  much  too  cold  for 
you.  You  are  the  most  wilful  of  men.  Why  would 
you  walk?" 

"  Hold  your  tongue,  sir,  and  listen  to  me.  I  think 
your  Marcella  is  beautiful,  and  as  interesting  as  she 
is  beautiful.     There !  " 

Aldous  started,  then  turned  a  grateful  face  upon 
him. 

"You  must  get  to  know  her  well,"  he  said,  but 
with  some  constraint. 

"Of  course.  I  wonder,"  said  Hallin,  musing, 
"whom  she  has  got  hold  of  among  the  Venturists. 
Shall  you  persuade  her  to  come  out  of  that,  do  you 
think,  Aldous?" 

"No!"  said  Eaeburn,  cheerfully.  "Her  sympa- 
thies and  convictions  go  with  them." 

Then,  as  they  passed  through  the  village,  he  began 
to  talk  of  quite  other  things  —  college  friends,  a  re- 
cent volume  of  philosophical  essays,  and  so  on.  Hadlin, 
accustomed  and  jealously  accustomed  as  he  was  to  be 
the  one  person  in  the  world  with  whom  Eaeburn 
talked  freely,  would  not  to-night  have  done  or  said 
anything  to  force  a  strong  man's  reserve.  But  his 
OAvn  mind  was  full  of  anxiety. 


CHAPTER    IV. 

"  I  LOVE  this  dilapidation  !  *'  said  Wharton,  pausing 
for  a  moment  with  his  back  against  the  door  he  had 
just  shut.  "Only  it  makes  me  long  to  take  off  my 
coat  and  practise  some  honest  trade  or  other  —  plas- 
tering, or  carpentering,  or  painting.  What  useless 
drones  we  upper  classes  are !  Neither  you  nor  I  could 
mend  that  ceiling  or  patch  this  floor  —  to  save  our 
lives." 

They  were  in  the  disused  library.  It  was  now  the 
last  room  westwards  of  the  garden  front,  but  in  reality 
it  was  part  of  the  older  house,  and  had  been  only 
adapted  and  re-built  by  that  eighteenth-century  Mar- 
cella  whose  money  had  been  so  gracefully  and  vainly 
lavished  on  giving  dignity  to  her  English  husband's 
birthplace.  The  roof  had  been  raised  and  domed  to 
match  the  "Chinese  room,"  at  the  expense  of  some 
small  rooms  on  the  upper  floor ;  and  the  windows  and 
doors  had  been  suited  to  eighteenth-century  taste.  But 
the  old  books  in  the  old  latticed  shelves  which  the 
Puritan  founder  of  the  family  had  bought  in  the  days 
of  the  Long  Parliament  were  still  there ;  so  were  the 
chairs  in  which  that  worthy  had  sat  to  read  a  tract  of 
Milton's  or  of  Baxter's,  or  the  table  at  which  he  had 
penned  his  letters  to  Hampden  or  Fairfax,  or  to  his 
old  friend  —  on  the  wrong  side  —  Edmund  Verney  the 
271 


272  MARC  ELL  A. 

standard-bearer.  Only  the  worm-eaten  shelves  were 
dropping  from  their  supports,  and  the  books  lay  in 
mouldy  confusion  ;  the  roofs  had  great  holes  and  gaps, 
whence  the  laths  hung  dismally  down,  and  bats  came 
flitting  in  the  dusk ;  and  there  were  rotten  places  in 
the  carpetless  floor. 

"I  have  tried  my  best,"  said  Marcella,  dolefully, 
stooping  to  look  at  a  hole  in  the  floor.  "  I  got  a  bit  of 
board  and  some  nails,  and  tried  to  mend  some  of  these 
places  myself.  But  I  only  broke  the  rotten  wood 
away ;  and  papa  was  angry,  and  said  I  did  more  harm 
than  good.  I  did  get  a  carpenter  to  mend  some  of  the 
chairs  ;  but  one  doesn't  know  where  to  begin.  I  have 
cleaned  and  mended  some  of  the  books,  but — " 

She  looked  sadly  round  the  musty,  forlorn  place. 

"But  not  so  well,  I  am  afraid,  as  any  second-hand 
bookseller's  apprentice  could  have  done  it,"  said  Whar- 
ton, shaking  his  head.  "  It's  maddening  to  think  what 
duffers  we  gentlefolks  are  ! " 

"  Why  do  you  harp  on  that  ?  "  said  ]\rarcella,  quickly. 
She  had  been  taking  him  over  the  house,  and  was  in 
twenty  minds  again  as  to  whether  and  how  much  she 
liked  him. 

"  Because  I  have  been  reading  some  Board  of  Trade 
reports  before  breakfast,"  said  Wharton,  "  on  one  or 
two  of  the  Birmingham  industries  in  particular.  Good- 
ness !  what  an  amount  of  knowledge  and  skill  and  re- 
source these  fellows  have  that  I  go  about  calling  the 
*  lower  orders.'  I  wonder  how  long  they  are  going  to 
let  me  rule  over  them  ! " 

"I  suppose  brain-power  and  education  count  for 
something  still  ?  "  said  Marcella,  half  scornfully. 


MABCELLA.  21 o 

"I  am  greatly  obliged  to  the  world  for  thinking 
so,"  said  Wharton  with  emphasis,  '•  and  for  thinking 
so  about  the  particular  kind  of  brain-power  I  happen 
to  possess,  which  is  the  point.  The  processes  by 
which  a  Birmingham  jeweller  makes  the  wonderful 
things  which  we  attribute  to  'French  taste'  when  we 
see  them  in  the  shops  of  the  Kue  de  la  Paix  are,  of 
course,  mere  imbecility  —  compared  to  my  perform- 
ances in  Responsions.  Lucky  for  me,  at  any  rate, 
that  the  world  has  decided  it  so,  I  get  a  good  time 
of  it  —  and  the  Birmingham  jeweller  calls  me  'sir.'" 

"  Oh  I  the  skilled  labour !  that  can  take  care  of  it- 
self, and  won't  go  on  calling  you  ^sir'  much  longer. 
But  what  about  the  unskilled  —  the  people  here  for 
instance  —  the  villagers  ?  We  talk  of  their  govern- 
ing themselves;  we  wish  it,  and  work  for  it.  But 
which  of  us  I'eally  believes  that  they  are  fit  for  it,  or 
that  they  are  ever  going  to  get  along  without  our 
brain-power  ?  " 

"  Xo  —  poor  souls  I  "  said  Wharton,  with  a  peculiar 
vibrating  emphasis.  " '  -B//  their  stripes  ice  are  healed, 
by  their  death  ice  have  lived.''  Do  you  remember  your 
Carlyle  ?  " 

They  had  entered  one  of  the  bays  formed  by  the 
bookcases  which  on  either  side  of  the  room  projected 
from  the  wall  at  regular  intervals,  and  were  standing 
by  one  of  the  windows  which  looked  out  on  the  great 
avenue.  Beside  the  window  on  either  side  hung  a 
small  portrait  —  in  the  one  case  of  an  elderly  man  in 
a  wig,  in  the  other  of  a  young,  dark-haired  Avoman. 

"Plenty  in  general,  but  nothing  in  particular,"  said 
Marcella,  laughing.     "  Quote." 
VOL.  I.  — 18 


274  MABCELLA. 

He  was  leaning  against  the  angle  formed  by  the 
wall  and  the  bookcase.  The  half-serious,  half-provoca- 
tive intensity  of  his  blue  eyes  under  the  brow  which 
drooped  forward  contrasted  Avith  the  careless,  well- 
appointed  ease  of  his  general  attitude  and  dress. 

"  '  Two  men  I  honour,  and  no  third/  "  he  said,  quot- 
ing in  a  slightly  dragging,  vibrating  voice :  " '  First, 
the  toilworn  craftsman  that  loith  earth-made  implement 
laboriously  conquers  the  earth  and  makes  her  marl's.  — 
Hardly-entreated  Brother!  For  us  ivas  thy  back  so 
bent,  for  us  ivere  thy  straight  limbs  and  fingers  so  de- 
formed; thou  ivert  our  conscript,  on  whom  the  lot  fell, 
and  fighting  our  battles  ivert  so  marred.''  Heavens  ! 
how  the  words  swing !  But  it  is  great  nonsense,  you 
know,  for  you  and  me  —  Venturists  —  to  be  maunder- 
ing like  this.  Charity  —  benevolence — that  is  all 
Carlyle  is  leading  up  to.  He  merely  wants  the  cash 
nexus  supplemented  by  a  few  good  offices.  But  we 
want  something  much  more  unpleasant !  '  Keep  your 
subscriptions  —  handover  your  dividends  —  turn  out 
of  5'^our  land  —  and  go  to  work!'  Nowadays  society 
is  trying  to  get  out  of  doing  what  loe  want,  by  doing 
what  Carlyle  wanted." 

"  Do  you  want  it  ?  "  said  Marcella. 

"I  don't  know,"  he  said,  laughing.  ''It  won't 
come  in  our  time." 

Her  lip  showed  her  scorn. 

<'  That's  what  we  all  think.  Meanwhile  you  will 
perhaps  admit  that  a  little  charity  greases  the  wheels." 

"  You  must,  because  you  are  a  woman ;  and  women 
are  made  for  charity  —  and  aristocracy." 

"  Do  you  suppose  you  know  so  much  about  women  ?  " 


MARCELLA.  275 

she  asked  him,  rather  hotly.  "  I  notice  it  is  always 
the  assumption  of  the  people  who  make  most  mis- 
takes." 

"  Oh  !  I  know  enough  to  steer  by  ! "  he  said,  smil- 
ing, with  a  little  inclination  of  his  curly  head,  as 
though  to  propitiate  her.  "  How  like  you  are  to  that 
portrait ! " 

Marcella  started,  and  saw  that  he  was  pointing  to 
the  woman's  portrait  beside  the  windoAv  —  looking 
from  it  to  his  hostess  with  a  close  considering  eye. 

'^  That  was  an  ancestress  of  mine,"  she  said  coldly, 
<'  an  Italian  lady.  She  was  rich  and  musical.  Her 
money  built  these  rooms  along  the  garden,  and  these 
are  her  music  books." 

She  showed  him  that  the  shelves  against  which  she 
was  leaning  were  full  of  old  music. 

"■  Italian  !  "  he  said,  lifting  his  eyebrows.  "  Ah, 
that  explains.  Do  you  know  —  that  you  have  all  the 
qualities  of  a  leader  !"  —  and  he  moved  away  a  yard 
from  her,  studying  her  —  "mixed  blood  —  one  must 
always  have  that  to  fire  and  fuse  the  English  paste  — 
and  then  —  but  no  !  that  won't  do  —  I  should  offend 
you." 

Her  first  instinct  was  one  of  annoyance  —  a  wish  to 
send  him  about  his  business,  or  rather  to  return  him 
to  her  mother  who  would  certainly  keep  him  in  order. 
Instead,  however,  she  found  herself  saying,  as  she 
looked  carelessly  out  of  window  — 

''  Oh  !  go  on." 

"Well,  then" — he  drew  himself  up  suddenly  and 
wheeled  round  upon  her  — "  you  have  the  gift  of 
compromise.  That  is  invaluable  —  that  will  take  you 
far." 


276  MAECELLA. 

"  Thank  you  !  "  she  said.  "  Thank  you  !  I  know 
what  that  means  —  from  a  Venturist.  You  think  me 
a  mean  insincere  person  I  " 

He  started,  then  recovered  himself  and  came  to 
lean  against  the  bookshelves  beside  her. 

"  I  mean  nothing  of  the  sort,"  he  said,  in  quite  a 
different  manner,  with  a  sort  of  gentle  and  personal 
emphasis.  "  But  —  may  I  explain  myself,  Miss  Boyce, 
in  a  room  with  a  fire  ?  I  can  see  you  shivering  under 
your  fur." 

For  the  frost  still  reigned  suj)reme  outside,  and  the 
white  grass  and  trees  threw  chill  reflected  lights  into 
the  forsaken  library.  Marcella  controlled  a  pulse  of 
excitement  that  had  begun  to  beat  in  her,  admitted 
that  it  was  certainly  cold,  and  led  the  way  through  a 
side  door  to  a  little  flagged  parlour,  belonging  to  the 
oldest  portion  of  the  house,  where,  however,  a  great 
log-fire  was  burning,  and  some  chairs  drawn  up  round 
it.  She  took  one  and  let  the  fur  wrap  she  had  thrown 
about  her  for  their  promenade  through  the  disused 
rooms  drop  from  her  shoulders.  It  lay  about  her  in 
full  brown  folds,  giving  special  dignity  to  her  slim 
height  and  proud  head.  Wharton  glancing  about  in 
his  curious  inquisitive  Avay,  now  at  the  neglected 
pictures,  now  on  the  walls,  now  at  the  old  oak  chairs 
and  chests,  now  at  her,  said  to  himself  that  she  was  a 
splendid  and  inspiring  creature.  She  seemed  to  be 
on  the  verge  of  offence  with  him  too,  half  the  time, 
which  was  stimulating.  She  would  have  liked,  he 
thought,  to  play  the  great  lady  with  him  already, 
as  Aldous  Kaeburn's  betrothed.  But  he  had  so  far 
managed  to  keep  her  off  that  plane  —  and  intended  to 
go  on  doing  so. 


MARC  ELL  A.  211 

"  Well,  I  meant  this,"  lie  said,  leaning  against  the 
old  stone  chimney  and  looking  down  upon  her ;  "  only 
donH  be  offended  with  me,  please.  You  are  a  Socialist, 
and  you  are  going  —  some  day  — to  be  Lady  Maxwell. 
Those  combinations  are  only  possible  to  women.  They 
can  sustain  them,  because  they  are  imaginative  —  not 
logical.'' 

She  flushed. 

"  And  you,"  she  said,  breathing  quickly,  "  are  a 
Socialist  and  a  landlord.     What  is  the  difference  ?  " 

He  laughed. 

"Ah!  but  I  have  no  gift  —  I  can't  ride  the  two 
horses,  as  you  will  be  able  to  —  quite  honestly. 
There's  the  difference.  And  the  consequence  is  that 
with  my  own  class  I  am  an  outcast  —  they  all  hate 
me.  But  you  will  have  power  as  Lady  Maxwell  — 
and  power  as  a  Socialist  —  because  you  will  give  and 
take.  Half  your  time  you  will  act  as  Lady  Maxwell 
should,  the  other  half  like  a  Yenturist.  And,  as  I  said, 
it  will  give  you  power  —  a  modified  power.  But  men 
are  less  clever  at  that  kind  of  thing." 

"Do  you  mean  to  say,"  she  asked  him  abruptly, 
"  that  you  have  given  up  the  luxuries  and  opportuni- 
ties of  your  class  ?  " 

He  shifted  his  position  a  little. 

"That  is  a  different  matter,"  he  said  after  a  mo- 
ment. "  We  Socialists  are  all  agreed,  I  think,  that 
no  man  can  be  a  Socialist  by  himself.  Luxuries,  for 
the  present,  are  something  personal,  individual.  It  is 
only  a  man's  '  public  form  '  that  matters.  And  there, 
as  I  said  before,  I  have  no  gift!  —  I  have  uot  a  rela- 
tion or  an  old  friend  in  the  workl  that  has  not  turned 


278  MAECELLA. 

his  back  upon  me  —  as  you  might  see  for  yourself 
yesterday!  My  class  has  renounced  me  already  — 
which,  after  all,  is  a  weakness." 

"  So  you  pity  yourself  ?  "  she  said. 

"  By  no  means !  We  all  choose  the  part  in  life  that 
amuses  us  —  that  brings  us  most  thrill.  I  get  most 
thrill  out  of  throwing  myself  into  the  workmen's  war 
—  much  more  than  I  could  ever  get,  you  will  admit, 
out  of  dancing  attendance  on  my  very  respectable 
cousins.  My  mother  taught  me  to  see  everything 
dramatically.  AVe  have  no  drama  in  England  at  the 
present  moment  worth  a  cent ;  so  I  amuse  myself  with 
this  great  tragi-comedy  of  the  working-class  move- 
ment. It  stirs,  pricks,  interests  me,  from  morning  till 
night.  I  feel  the  great  rough  elemental  passions  in 
it,  and  it  delights  me  to  know  that  every  day  brings 
us  nearer  to  some  great  outburst,  to  scenes  and  strug- 
gles at  any  rate  that  will  make  us  all  look  alive.  I 
am  like  a  child  with  the  best  of  its  cake  to  come,  but 
with  plenty  in  hand  already.  Ah !  —  stay  still  a 
moment,  Miss  Boyce  !" 

To  her  amazement  he  stooped  suddenly  towards 
her ;  and  she,  looking  down,  saw  that  a  corner  of  her 
light,  black  dress,  which  had  been  overhanging  the  low 
stone  fender,  was  in  flames,  and  that  he  was  putting  it 
out  with  his  hands.  She  made  a  movement  to  rise, 
alarmed  lest  the  flames  should  leap  to  her  face  —  her 
hair.  But  he,  releasing  one  hand  for  an  instant  from 
its  task  of  twisting  and  rolling  the  skirt  upon  itself, 
held  her  heavily  down. 

"  Don't  move ;  I  will  have  it  out  in  a  moment.  You 
won't  be  burnt." 


MARCELLA.  279 

And  in  a  second  more  she  was  looking  at  a  ragged 
brown  hole  in  her  dress ;  and  at  him,  standing,  smil- 
ing, before  the  fire,  and  wrapping  a  handkerchief 
round  some  of  the  fingers  of  his  left  hand. 

'•You  have  burnt  yourself,  Mr.  Wharton?" 

"  A  little." 

"I  will  go  and  get  something  —  what  would  you 
like  ?  " 

"  A  little  olive  oil  if  you  have  some,  and  a  bit  of 
lint  —  but  don't  trouble  yourself." 

She  flew  to  find  her  mother's  maid,  calling  and 
searching  on  her  way  for  Mrs.  Boyce  herself,  but  in 
vain.  Mrs.  Boyce  had  disappeared  after  breakfast, 
and  was  probably  helping  her  husband  to  dress. 

In  a  minute  or  so  Marcella  ran  downstairs  again, 
bearing  various  medicaments.  She  sped  to  the  Stone 
Parlour,  her  cheek  and  eye  glowing. 

"Let  me  do  it  for  you." 

"If  you  please,"  said  Wharton,  meekly. 

She  did  her  best,  but  she  was  not  skilful  with  her 
fingers,  and  this  close  contact  with  him  somehow 
excited  her. 

"  There,"  she  said,  laughing  and  releasing  him.  "  Of 
course,  if  I  were  a  work-girl  I  should  have  done  it 
better.     They  are  not  going  to  be  ver}-  bad,  I  think." 

"What,  the  burns?  Oh,  no!  They  will  have 
recovered,  I  am  afraid,  long  before  your  dress." 

"  Oh,  my  dress  !  yes,  it  is  deplorable.  I  will  go  and 
change  it." 

She  turned  to  go,  but  she  lingered  instead,  and  said 
with  an  odd,  introductory  laugh : 

"  I  believe  you  saved  my  life  !  " 


280  MABCELLA. 

"  Well,  I  am  glad  I  was  here.  You  might  have  lost 
self-possession  —  even  you  might,  yon  know!  —  and 
then  it  would  have  been  serious." 

'*^ Anyway" — her  voice  was  still  uncertain  —  "I 
might  have  been  disfigured —  disfigured  for  life  !  " 

"  I  don't  know  why  you  should  dwell  upon  it  now 
it's  done  with,"  he  declared,  smiling. 

"It  would  be  strange,  wouldn't  it,  if  I  took  it 
quite  for  granted  —  all  in  the  day's  work  ?  "  She  held 
out  her  hand :  "  I  am  grateful  —  please." 

He  bowed  over  it,  laughing,  again  with  that  eigh- 
teenth-century air  which  might  have  become  a  Cheva- 
lier des  Grieux. 

"  May  I  exact  a  reward  ?  " 

"  Ask  it." 

"  Will  you  take  me  down  with  you  to  your  village  ? 
I  know  you  are  going.  I  must  walk  on  afterwards 
and  catch  a  midday  train  to  Widrington.  I  have  an 
appointment  there  at  two  o'clock.  But  perhaps  you 
will  introduce  me  to  one  or  two  of  your  poor  people 
first  ?  " 

Marcella  assented,  went  upstairs,  changed  her  dress, 
and  put  on  her  walking  things,  more  than  half  in- 
clined all  the  time  to  press  her  mother  to  go  with 
them.  She  was  a  little  unstrung  and  tremulous,  pur- 
sued by  a  feeling  that  she  was  somehow  letting  her- 
self go,  behaving  disloyally  and  indecorously  towards 
whom?  —  towards  Aldous  ?  But  how,  or  why  ?  She 
did  not  know.  But  there  was  a  curious  sense  of  lost 
bloom,  lost  dignity,  combined  with  an  odd  wish  that 
Mr.  Wharton  were  not  going  away  for  the  day.  In 
the  end,  however,  she  left  her  mother  undisturbed. 


MARCELLA.  281 

By  the  time  they  were  half  way  to  the  village, 
Marcella's  uncomfortable  feelings  had  all  passed  away. 
Without  knowing  it,  she  was  becoming  too  much 
absorbed  in  her  companion  to  be  self-critical,  so  long 
as  they  were  together.  It  seemed  to  her,  however, 
before  they  had  gone  more  than  a  few  hundred  yards 
that  he  was  taking  advantage  —  presuming  on  what 
had  happened.  He  offended  her  taste,  her  pride,  her 
dignity,  in  a  hundred  ways,  she  discovered.  At  the 
same  time  it  was  she  who  was  always  on  the  defensive 
—  protecting  her  dreams,  her  acts,  her  opinions,  against 
the  constant  fire  of  his  half-ironical  questions,  which 
seemed  to  leave  her  no  time  at  all  to  carry  the  war 
into  the  enemy's  country.  He  put  her  through  a 
quick  cross-examination  about  the  village,  its  occupa- 
tions, the  incomes  of  the  people,  its  local  charities 
and  institutions,  what  she  hoped  to  do  for  it,  what 
she  would  do  if  she  could,  what  she  thought  it  possible 
to  do.  She  answered  first  reluctantly,  then  eagerly, 
her  pride  all  alive  to  show  that  she  was  not  merely 
ignorant  and  amateurish.  But  it  was  no  good.  In 
the  end  he  made  her  feel  as  Antony  Craven  had  con- 
stantly done  —  that  she  knew  nothing  exacth^,  that 
she  had  not  mastered  the  conditions  of  any  one  of  the 
social  problems  she  was  talking  about ;  that  not  only 
was  her  reading  of  no  account,  but  that  she  had  not 
even  managed  to  see  these  people,  to  interpret  their 
lives  under  her  very  eyes,  with  any  large  degree  of 
insight. 

Especially  was  he  merciless  to  all  the  Lady  Bounti- 
ful pose,  which  meant  so  much  to  her  imagination  — 
not  in  words  so  much  as  in  manner.     He  let  her  see 


282  MARCELLA. 

that  all  the  doling  and  shepherding  and  advising  that 
still  pleased  her  fancy  looked  to  him  the  merest  tem- 
porary palliative,  and  irretrievably  tainted,  even  at 
that,  with  some  vulgar  feeling  or  other.  All  that  the 
well-to-do  could  do  for  the  poor  under  the  present  state 
of  society  was  but  a  niggardly  quit-rent ;  as  for  any 
relation  of  ^'superior"  and  "inferior"  in  the  business, 
or  of  any  social  desert  attaching  to  these  precious 
efforts  of  the  upper  class  to  daub  the  gaps  in  the  ruin- 
ous social  edifice  for  which  they  were  themselves 
responsible,  he  did  not  attempt  to  conceal  his  scorn. 
If  you  did  not  do  these  things,  so  much  the  worse  for 
you  when  the  working  class  came  •  to  its  own  ;  if  you 
did  do  them,  the  burden  of  debt  was  hardly  dimin- 
ished, and  the  rope  was  still  left  on  your  neck. 

Now  Marcella  herself  had  on  one  or  two  occasions 
taken  a  malicious  pleasure  in  flaunting  these  doc- 
trines, or  some  of  them,  under  Miss  Raeburn's  eyes. 
But  somehow,  as  applied  to  herself,  they  were  disa- 
greeable. Each  of  us  is  to  himself  a  "special  case"  ; 
and  she  saw  the  other  side.  Hence  a  constant  sore- 
ness of  feeling ;  a  constant  recalling  of  the  argument 
to  the  personal  point  of  view;  and  through  it  all 
a  curious  growth  of  intimacy,  a  rubbing  away  of  bar- 
riers. She  had  felt  herself  of  no  account  before, 
intellectually,  in  Aldous's  company,  as  we  know.  But 
then  how  involuntary  on  his  part,  and  how  counter- 
balanced by  that  passionate  idealism  of  his  love,  which 
glorified  every  pretty  impulse  in  her  to  the  noblest 
proportions !  Under  Wharton's  Socratic  method,  she 
was  conscious  at  times  of  the  most  wild  and  womanish 
desires,  worthy  of  her  childhood  —  to  cry,  to  go  into 


MABCELLA.  283 

a  passion  !  —  and  when  tliey  came  to  the  village,  and 
every  human  creature,  old  and  young,  dropped  its 
obsequious  curtsey  as  they  passed,  she  could  first 
have  beaten  them  for  so  degrading  her,  and  the  next 
moment  felt  a  feverish  pleasure  in  thus  parading  her 
petty  power  before  a  man  who  in  his  doctrinaire 
pedantry  had  no  sense  of  poetry,  or  of  the  dear  old 
natural  relations  of  country  life. 

They  went  first  to  Mrs.  Jellison's,  to  whom  Marcella 
wished  to  unfold  her  workshop  scheme. 

"Don't  let  me  keep  you,"  she  said  to  AVharton 
coldly,  as  they  neared  the  cottage  ;  "  I  know  you  have 
to  catch  your  train." 

Wharton  consulted  his  watch.  He  had  to  be  at  a 
local  station  some  two  miles  off  within  an  hour. 

"  Oh  !  I  have  time,"  he  said.  "  Do  take  me  in.  Miss 
Boyce.  I  have  made  acquaintance  with  these  people 
so  far,  as  my  constituents  —  now  show  them  to  me  as 
your  subjects.  Besides,  I  am  an  observer.  I  'col- 
lect' peasants.     They  are  my  study." 

"They  are  not  my  subjects,  but  my  friends,"  she 
said  with  the  same  stiffness. 

They  found  Mrs.  Jellison  having  her  dinner.  The 
lively  old  woman  was  sitting  close  against  her  bit  of 
fire,  on  her  left  a  small  deal  table  which  held  her  cold 
potatoes  and  cold  bacon ;  on  her  right  a  tiny  window 
and  window-sill  whereon  lay  her  coil  of  "  plait "  and 
the  simple  straw-splitting  machine  she  had  just  been 
working.  When  Marcella  had  taken  the  only  other 
chair  the  hovel  contained,  nothing  else  remained  for 
Wharton  but  to  flatten  himself  as  closely  against  the 
door  as  he  might. 


284  MARCELLA. 

"  I'm  sorry  I  can't  bid  yer  take  a  cheer,"  said  Mrs. 
Jellison  to  him,"  but  what  yer  han't  got  yer  can't  give, 
so  I  don't  trouble  my  head  about  nothink." 

Wharton  applauded  her  with  easy  politeness,  and 
then  gave  himself,  with  folded  arms,  to  examining 
the  cottage  while  Marcella  talked.  It  might  be  ten 
feet  broad,  he  thought,  by  six  feet  in  one  part  and 
eight  feet  in  another.  The  roof  was  within  little 
more  than  an  inch  of  his  head.  The  stairway  in  the 
corner  was  falling  to  pieces  ;  he  wondered  how  the 
woman  got  up  safely  to  her  bed  at  night ;  custom,  he 
supposed,  can  make  even  old  bones  agile. 

Meanwhile  Marcella  was  unfolding  the  project  of 
the  straw-plaiting  workshop  that  she  and  Lady  Win- 
terbourne  were  about  to  start.  Mrs.  Jellison  put  on 
her  spectacles  apparently  that  she  might  hear  the 
better,  pushed  away  her  dinner  in  spite  of  her  vis- 
itors' civilities,  and  listened  with  a  bright  and  beady 
eye. 

^'  An'  yer  agoin'  to  pay  me  one  a  sixpence  a  score, 
where  I  now  gets  ninepence.  And  I'll  not  have  to 
tramjD  it  into  town  no  more  —  you'll  send  a  man  round. 
And  who  is  agoin'  to  pay  me,  miss,  if  you'll  excuse 
me  asking  ?  " 

"  Lady  Winterbourne  and  I,"  said  Marcella,  smiling. 
"  We're  going  to  employ  this  village  and  two  others, 
and  make  as  good  business  of  it  as  we  can.  But  we're 
going  to  begin  by  giving  the  workers  better  wages, 
and  in  time  we  hope  to  teach  them  the  higher  kinds 
of  work." 

"  Lor' ! "  said  Mrs.  Jellison.  "  But  I'm  not  one  o' 
them  as  kin  do  with  changes."     She  took  up  her  plait 


MARCELLA.  285 

and  looked  at  it  thoughtfull}'.  "  Eighteen-pence  a 
score.  It  wor  that  rate  when  I  wor  a  girl.  An'  it  ha' 
been  dibble  —  dibble  —  iver  sense  ;  a  penny  off  here, 
an'  a  penny  off  there,  an'  a  hard  job  to  keep  a  bite  ov 
anythink  in  your  mouth." 

"Then  I  may  put  down  your  name  among  our 
workers,  Mrs.  Jellison  ? "  said  Marcella,  rising  and 
smiling  down  upon  her. 

"  Oh,  lor',  no  ;  I  niver  said  that,"  said  Mrs.  Jellison, 
hastily.  "I  don't  hold  wi'  shilly-shallyin'  wi'  yer 
means  o'  livin'.     I've  took  my  plait  to  Jimmy  Gedge 

—  'im  an'  'is  son,  fust  shop  on  yer  right  hand  when 
yer  git  into  town  —  twenty -five  3'ear,  summer  and 
winter  —  me  an'  three  other  women,  as  give  me  a 
penny  a  journey  for  takin'  theirs.  If  I  wor  to  go 
messin'  about  wi'  Jimmy  Gedge,  Lor'  bless  yer,  I 
should  'ear  ov  it  —  oh !  I  shoulden  sleep  o'  nights  for 
thinkin'  o'  how  Jimmy  ud  serve  me  out  when  I  wor 
least  egspectin'  ov  it.  He's  a  queer  un.  No,  miss, 
thank  yer  kindly ;  but  I  think  I'll  bide." 

Marcella,  amazed,  began  to  argue  a  little,  to  ex- 
pound the  many  attractions  of  the  new  scheme. 
Greatly  to  her  annoyance,  Wharton  came  forward  to 
her  help,  guaranteeing  the  solvency  and  permanence 
of  her  new  partnership  in  glib  and  pleasant  phrase, 
wherein  her  angry  fancy  suspected  at  once  the  note  of 
irony.  But  Mrs.  Jellison  held  firm,  embroidering  her 
negative,  indeed,  with  her  usual  cheerful  chatter,  but 
sticking  to  it  all  the  same.  At  last  there  was  no  way 
of  saving  dignity  but  to  talk  of  something  else  and  go 

—  above  all,  to  talk  of  something  else  before  going, 
lest  the  would-be  benefactor  should  be  thought  a  petty 
tyrant. 


286  MARCELLA. 

"  Oh,  Johnnie  ?  —  thank  yer,  miss  —  'e's  an  owda- 
cious  3'oung  villain  as  iver  I  seed  —  but  c/eve?*  —  lor', 
you'd  need  'ave  eyes  in  yer  back  to  look  after  Hm. 
An'  coaxin^ !  ' ' Aven't  yer  brought  me  no  sweeties, 
Gran'ma?'  'jSTo,  my  dear,'  says  I.  'But  if  you 
was  to  look,  Gran'ma  —  in  both  your  pockets,  Gran'ma 

—  iv  you  was  to  let  ine  look  ?  '  It's  a  sharp  un  Isa- 
bella, she  don't  'old  wi'  sweet-stuff,  she  says,  sich  a 
pack  o'  nonsense.  She'd  stuff  herself  sick  when  she 
wor  'is  age.  AVhy  shouldn't  ee  be  happy,  same  as 
her  ?  There  ain't  much  to  make  a  child  'appy  in 
that  'ouse.  Westall,  ee's  that  mad  about  them 
poachers  over  Tudley  End;  ee's  like  a  wild  bull  at 
'ome.  I  told  Isabella  eeVl  come  to  knockin'  ov  her 
about  so7ne  day,  though  ee  did  speak  so  oily  when  ee 
wor  a  courtin'.  Now  she  knows  as  I  kin  see  a  thing 
or  two,"  said  Mrs.  Jellison,  significantly.  Her  manner, 
Wharton  noticed,  kept  always  the  same  gay  philosophy, 
whatever  subject  turned  up. 

"Why,  that's  an  old  story  —  that  Tudley  End  busi- 
ness —  "  said  Marcella,  rising.  '•  I  should  have  thought 
Westall  might  have  got  over  it  by  now." 

"But  bless  yer,  ee  says  it's  goin'  on  as  lively  as 
iver.  Ee  says  ee  knows  they're  set  on  grabbin'  the 
birds  t'other  side  the  estate,  over  beyond  Mellor  way 

—  ee's  got  wind  of  it  —  an'  ee's  watchin'  night  an  day 
to  see  they  don't  do  him  no  bad  turn  this  month, 
bekaseo'  the  big  shoot  they  alius  has  in  January.  An' 
lor',  ee  do  speak  drefful  bad  o'  soom  folks,"  said  Mrs. 
Jellison,  with  an  amused  expression.  "  You  know  some 
on  'em,  miss,  don't  yer  ?  "  And  the  old  woman,  who 
had  begun  toying  with  her  potatoes,  slanted  her  fork 


MABCELLA.  287 

over  her  shoulder  so  as  to  point  towards  the  Hurds' 
cottage,  whereof  the  snow-laden  roof  could  be  seen  con- 
spicuously through  the  little  lattice  beside  her,  making 
sly  eyes  the  while  at  her  visitor. 

"I  don't  believe  a  word  of  it,"  said  Marcella,  im- 
patiently. "  Hurd  has  been  in  good  work  since  Octo- 
ber, and  has  no  need  to  poach.  Westall  has  a  down 
on  him.     You  may  tell  him  I  think  so,  if  you  like." 

'•That  I  will,"  said  Mrs.  Jellison,  cheerfully,  opening 
the  door  for  them.  ''  There's  nobody  makes  'im  'ear 
the  treuth,  nobbut  me.  I  loves  naggin'  ov  'im,  ee's 
that  masterful.     But  ee  don't  master  7ne ! " 

''  A  gay  old  thing,"  said  Wharton  as  they  shut  the 
gate  behind  them.  "How  she  does  enjoy  the  human 
spectacle.  And  obstinate  too.  But  you  will  find  the 
younger  ones  more  amenable." 

"  Of  course,"  said  Marcella,  with  dignity.  "  I  have 
a  great  many  names  already.  The  old  people  are 
always  difficult.     But  Mrs.  Jellison  will  come  round." 

"  Are  you  going  in  here  ?  " 

"Please." 

Wharton  knocked  at  the  Hurds'  door,  and  Mrs. 
Hurd  opened. 

The  cottage  was  thick  with  smoke.  The  chimney 
only  drew  when  the  door  was  left  open.  But  the  wind 
to-day  was  so  bitter  that  mother  and  children  preferred 
the  smoke  to  the  draught.  Marcella  soon  made  out 
the  poor  little  bronchitic  boy,  sitting  coughing  by  the 
fire,  and  Mrs.  Hurd  busied  with  some  washing.  She 
introduced  Wharton,  who,  as  before,  stood  for  some 
time,  hat  in  hand,  studying  the  cottage."  Marcella  was 
perfectly  conscious  of  it,  and  a  blush  rose  to  her  cheek 


288  MARCELLA. 

while  she  talked  to  Mrs.  Hurd.  For  both  this  and 
Mrs.  Jellison's  hovel  were  her  father's  property  and 
somewhat  highly  rented. 

Minta  Hurd  said  eagerly  that  she  would  join  the 
new  straw-plaiting,  and  went  on  to  throw  out  a  number 
of  hurried,  half-coherent  remarks  about  the  state  of 
the  trade  past  and  present,  leaning  meanwhile  against 
the  table  and  endlessly  drying  her  hands  on  the  towel 
she  had  taken  up  when  her  visitors  came  in. 

Her  manner  was  often  nervous  and  flighty  in  these 
days.  She  never  looked  happy ;  but  Marcella  put  it 
down  to  health  or  natural  querulousness  of  character. 
Yet  both  she  and  the  children  were  clearly  better 
nourished,  except  Willie,  in  whom  the  tubercular  ten- 
dency was  fast  gaining  on  the  child's  strength. 

Altogether  Marcella  was  proud  of  her  work,  and  her 
eager  interest  in  this  little  knot  of  people  whose  lives 
she  had  shaped  was  more  possessive  than  ever.  Hurd, 
indeed,  was  often  silent  and  secretive ;  but  she  put 
down  her  difficulties  with  him  to  our  odious  system  of 
class  differences,  against  which  in  her  own  way  she 
was  struggling.  One  thing  delighted  her  —  that  he 
seemed  to  take  more  and  more  interest  in  the  labour 
questions  she  discussed  with  him,  and  in  that  fervid, 
exuberant  literature  she  provided  him  with.  More- 
over, he  now  went  to  all  Mr.  Wharton's  meetings  that 
were  held  within  reasonable  distance  of  Mellor ;  and, 
as  she  said  to  Aldous  with  a  little  laugh,  which,  how- 
ever, was  not  unsweet,  he  had  found  her  man  work  — 
she  had  robbed  his  candidate  of  a  vote. 

Wharton  listened  a  w^hile  to  her  talk  with  Minta, 
smiled  a  little,  unperceived  of  Marcella,  at  the  young 


MARCELLA.  289 

mother's  docilities  of  manner  and  phrase  ;  then  turned 
his  attention  to  the  little  hunched  and  coughing  object 
by  the  fire. 

"  Are  you  very  bad,  little  man  ?  " 

The  white-faced  child  looked  up,  a  dreary  look, 
revealing  a  patient,  melancholy  soul.  He  tried  to 
answer,  but  coughed  instead. 

Wharton,  moving  towards  him,  saw  a  bit  of  ragged 
white  paper  lying  on  the  ground,  which  had  been  torn 
from  a  grocery  parcel. 

"  Would  you  like  something  to  amuse  you  a  bit  — 
Ugh  !  this  smoke  !  Come  round  here,  it  won't  catch 
us  so  much.  Xow,  then,  what  do  you  say  to  a  doggie, 
—  two  doggies  ?  " 

The  child  stared,  let  himself  be  lifted  on  the 
stranger's  knee,  and  did  his  very  utmost  to  stop 
coughing.  But  when  he  had  succeeded  his  quick  pant- 
ing breaths  still  shook  his  tiny  frame  and  Wharton's 
knee. 

''  Hm  —  Give  him  two  months  or  thereabouts !  '^ 
thought  Wharton.  "  W^hat  a  beastly  hole  !  —  one 
room  up,  and  one  down,  like  the  other,  only  a  shade 
larger.  Damp,  insanitary,  cold  —  bad  water,  bad 
drainage,  I'll  be  bound  —  bad  everything.  That  girl 
may  well  try  her  little  best.  And  I  go  making  up  to 
that  man  Boyce  !  What  for  ?  Old  spites  ?  —  new 
spites  ?  —  which  ?  —  or  both ! " 

Meanwhile  his  rapid  skilful  fingers  were  tearing, 
pinching,  and  shaping ;  and  in  a  very  few  minutes 
there,  upon  his  free  knee,  stood  the  most  enticing 
doggie  of  pinched  paper,  a  hound  in  full  course,  with 
long  ears  and  stretching  legs. 

VOL.    I.  —  19 


290  MARCELLA. 

The  cliild  gazed  at  it  with  ravishment,  put  out  a 
weird  hand,  touched  it,  stroked  it,  and  then,  as  he 
looked  back  at  Wharton,  the  most  exquisite  smile 
dawned  in  his  saucer-blue  eyes. 

"  What  ?  did  you  like  it,  grasshopper  ?  "  cried  Whar- 
ton, enchanted  by  the  beauty  of  the  look,  his  own 
colour  mounting.     '•  Then  yon  shall  have  another." 

And  he  twisted  and  turned  his  piece  of  fresh  paper, 
till  there,  beside  the  first,  stood  a  second  fairy  animal 
—  a  greyhound  this  time,  w^ith  arching  neck  and  sharp 
long  nose. 

"  There's  two  on  'em  at  Westall's  !  "  cried  the  child, 
hoarsely,  clutching  at  his  treasures  in  an  ecstasy. 

Mrs.  Hurd,  at  the  other  end  of  the  cottage,  started 
as  she  heard  the  name.  Marcella  noticed  it ;  and  with 
her  eager  sympathetic  look  began  at  once  to  talk  of 
Hurd  and  the  works  at  the  Court.  She  understood 
they  were  doing  grand  things,  and  that  the  Avork 
would  last  all  the  winter.  Minta  answered  hurriedly 
and  with  a  curious  choice  of  phrases.  ''  Oh  !  he  didn't 
have  nothing  to  say  against  it."  Mr.  Brown,  the 
steward,  seemed  satisfied.  All  that  she  said  w^as  some- 
how^ irrelevant ;  and,  to  Marcella's  annoyance,  plain- 
tive as  usual.  Wharton,  with  the  boy  inside  his  arm, 
turned  his  head  an  instant  to  listen. 

Marcella,  having  thought  of  repeating,  without 
names,  some  of  Mrs.  Jellison's  gossip,  then  shrank 
from  it.  He  had  promised  her,  she  thought  to  herself 
with  a  proud  delicacy ;  and  she  was  not  going  to  treat 
the  word  of  a  working  man  as  different  from  anybody 
else's. 

So   she   fastened   her  cloak  again,  which  she  had 


MAECELLA.  291 

thrown  open  in  the  stifling  air  of  the  cottage,  and 
turned  both  to  call  her  companion  and  give  a  smile  or 
two  to  the  sick  bo}^ 

But,  as  she  did  so,  she  stood  amazed  at  the  spec- 
tacle of  Wharton  and  the  child.  Then,  moving  up  to 
them,  she  perceived  the  menagerie  —  for  it  had  grown 
to  one  —  on  Wharton's  knee. 

"  You  didn't  guess  I  had  such  tricks,"  he  said,  smil- 
ing. 

"But  they  are  so  good  —  so  artistic!"  She  took 
up  a  little  galloping  horse  he  had  just  fashioned  and 
wondered  at  it. 

"A  great-aunt  taught  me  —  she  was  a  genius  —  I 
follow  her  at  a  long  distance.  Will  you  let  me  go, 
young  man  ?     You  may  keep  all  of  them." 

But  the  ^hild,  with  a  sudden  contraction  of  the 
brow,  flung  a  tiny  stick-like  arm  round  his  neck, 
pressing  hard,  and  looking  at  him.  There  was  a  red 
spot  in  each  wasted  cheek,  and  his  eyes  were  wide 
and  happy.  Wharton  returned  the  look  with  one  of 
quiet  scrutiny  —  the  scrutiny  of  the  doctor  or  the 
philosopher.  On  Marcella's  quick  sense  the  contrast 
of  the  two  heads  impressed  itself — the  delicate  youth 
of  Wharton's  with  its  clustering  curls  —  the  sunken 
contours  and  the  helpless  suffering  of  the  other. 
Then  Wharton  kissed  the  little  fellow,  put  his  ani- 
mals carefully  on  to  a  chair  beside  him,  and  set  him 
down. 

They  walked  along  the  snowy  street  again,  in  a 
different  relation  to  each  other.  Marcella  had  been 
touched  and  charmed,  and  Wharton  teased  her  no 
more.     As  they  reached  the  door  of  the   almshouse 


292  MARC  ELL  A. 

where  the  old  Pattons  lived,  she  said  to  him:  ^'I 
think  I  had  rather  go  in  here  by  myself,  please.  I 
have  some  things  to  give  them  —  old  Patton  has  been 
very  ill  this  last  week  —  but  I  know  what  you  think 
of  doles  —  and  I  know  too  what  you  think,  what  you 
must  think,  of  my  father's  cottages.  It  makes  me 
feel  a  hypocrite ;  yet  I  must  do  these  things ;  we  are 
different,  you  and  I  —  I  am  sure  you  will  miss  your 
train ! " 

But  there  was  no  antagonism,  only  painful  feeling 
in  her  softened  look. 

Wharton  put  out  his  hand. 

"Yes,  it  is  time  for  me  to  go.  You  say  I  make  you 
feel  a  hypocrite !  I  wonder  whether  you  have  any 
idea  what  you  make  me  feel  ?  Do  you  imagine  I 
should  dare  to  say  the  things  I  have  sajd  except  to 
one  of  the  elite?  Would  it  be  worth  my  while,  as  a 
social  reformer  ?  Are  you  not  vowed  to  great  desti- 
nies ?  When  one  comes  across  one  of  the  tools  of  the 
future,  must  one  not  try  to  sharpen  it,  out  of  one's 
poor  resources,  in  spite  of  mamiers  ?  " 

Marcella,  stirred  —  abashed  —  fascinated  —  let  him 
press  her  hand.  Then  he  walked  rapidly  away  towards 
the  station,  a  faint  smile  twitching  at  his  lip. . 

"An  inexperienced  girl,"  he  said  to  himself,  com- 
posedly. 


CHAPTEK.V. 

Before  she  went  home,  Marcella  turned  into  the 
little  rectory  garden  to  see  if  she  could  find  Mary 
Harden  for  a  minute  or  two.  The  intimacy  between 
them  Avas  such  that  she  generally  found  entrance  to 
the  house  by  going  round  to  a  garden  door  and  knock- 
ing or  calling.  The  house  was  very  small,  and  Mary's 
little  sitting-room  was  close  to  this  door. 

Her  knock  brought  Mary  instantly. 

"  Oh!  come  in.  You  won't  mind.  We  were  just  at 
dinner.  Charles  is  going  away  directly.  Do  stay  and 
talk  to  me  a  bit." 

Marcella  hesitated,  but  at  last  went  in.  The  meals 
at  the  rectory  distressed  her  —  the  brother  and  sister 
showed  the  marks  of  them.  To-day  she  found  their 
usual  fare  carefully  and  prettily  arranged  on  a  spot- 
less table;  some  bread,  cheese,  and  boiled  rice  —  noth- 
ing else.  Nor  did  they  allow  themselves  any  fire  for 
meals.  Marcella,  sitting  beside  them  in  her  fur,  did 
not  feel  the  cold,  but  Mary  was  clearly  shivering 
under  her  shawl.  They  eat  meat  twice  a  week,  and  in 
the  afternoon  Mary  lit  the  sitting-room  fire.  In  the 
morning  she  contented  herself  with  the  kitchen,  where, 
as  she  cooked  for  many  sick  folk,  and  had  only  a  girl 
of  fourteen  whom  she  was  training  to  help  her  with 
the  housework,  she  had  generally  much  to  do. 

293 


294  MARCELLA. 

The  Rector  did  not  stay  long  after  her  arrival.  He 
had  a  distant  visit  to  pay  to  a  dying  child,  and  hurried 
off  so  as  to  be  home,  if  possible,  before  dark.  Mar- 
cella  admired  him,  but  did  not  feel  that  she  under- 
stood him  more  as  they  were  better  acquainted.  He 
was  slight  and  young,  and  not  very  clever ;  but  a  cer- 
tain inexpugnable  dignity  surrounded  him,  which,  real 
as  it  was,  sometimes  irritated  Marcella.  It  sat  oddly 
on  his  round  face  —  boyish  still,  in  spite  of  its  pinched 
and  anxious  look  —  but  there  it  was,  not  to  be  ignored. 
Marcella  thought  him  a  Conservative,  and  very  back- 
ward and  ignorant  in  his  political  and  social  opinions. 
But  she  was  perfectly  conscious  that  she  must  also 
think  him  a  saint ;  and  that  the  deepest  things  in  him 
were  probably  not  for  her. 

Mr.  Harden  said  a  few  words  to  her  now  as  to  her 
straw-plaiting  scheme,  which  had  his  warmest  sym- 
pathy —  Marcella  contrasted  his  tone  gratefully  with 
that  of  Wharton,  and  once  more  fell  happily  in  love 
with  her  own  ideas  —  then  he  went  off,  leaving  the 
two  girls  together. 

"Have  you  seen  Mrs.  Hurd  this  morning?"  said 
Mary. 

"Yes,  Willie  seems  very  bad." 

Mary  assented. 

"The  doctor  says  he  will  hardly  get  through  the 
winter,  especially  if  this  weather  goes  on.  But  the 
greatest  excitement  of  the  village  just  now  —  do  you 
know?  —  is  the  quarrel  between  Hurd  and  Westall. 
Somebody  told  Charles  yesterday  that  they  never  meet 
without  threatening  each  other.  Since  the  covers  at 
Tudley  End  were  raided,  Westall  seems  to  have  quite 


MARCELLA.  295 

lost  his  head.  He  declares  Hurd  knew  all  about  that, 
and  that  he  is  hand  and  glove  with  the  same  gang 
still.  He  vows  he  will  catch  him  out,  and  Hurd  told 
the  man  who  told  Charles  that  if  We  stall  bullies  him 
any  more  he  will  put  a  knife  into  him.  And  Charles 
says  that  Hurd  is  not  a  bit  like  he  was.  He  used  to 
be  such  a  patient,  silent  creature.     Now  —  " 

'•  He  has  woke  up  to  a  few  more  ideas  and  a  little 
more  life  than  he  had,  that's  all,"  said  Marcella,  impa- 
tiently. "He  poached  last  winter,  and  small  blame 
to  him.  But  since  he  got  work  at  the  Court  in 
November  —  is  it  likely?  He  knows  that  he  was  sus- 
pected; and  what  could  be  his  interest  now,  after  a 
hard  day's  work,  to  go  out  again  at  night,  and  run 
the  risk  of  falling  into  Westall's  clutches,  when  he 
doesn't  want  either  the  food  or  the  money?" 

"I  don't  know,"  said  Mary,  shaking  her  head. 
"Charles  says,  if  they  once  do  it,  they  hardly  ever 
leave  it  off  altogether.  It's  the  excitement  and  amuse- 
ment of  it." 

"He  promised  me,"  said  Marcella,  proudly. 

"They  promise  Charles  all  sorts  of  things,"  said 
Mary,  slyly;  "but  they  don't  keep  to  them." 

Warmly  grateful  as  both  she  and  the  Kector  had 
been  from  the  beginning  to  Marcella  for  the  passionate 
interest  she  took  in  the  place  and  the  people,  the 
sister  was  sometimes  now  a  trifle  jealous  —  divinely 
jealous  —  for  her  brother.  Marcella's  unbounded  con- 
fidence in  her  own  power  and  right  over  Mellor,  her 
growing  tendency  to  ignore  anybody  else's  right  or 
power,  sometimes  set  Mary  aflame,  for  Charles's  sake, 
heartily  and  humbly  as  she  admired  her  beautiful 
friend. 


296  MARCELLA. 

"I  shall  speak  to  Mr.  Raeburn  about  it,"  said  Mar- 
cella. 

She  never  called  him  "  Aldous "  to  anybody  —  a 
stiffness  which  jarred  a  little  upon  the  gentle,  senti- 
mental Mary. 

"I  saw  you  pass,"  she  said,  "from  one  of  the  top 
windows.     He  was  with  you,  wasn't  he?" 

A  slight  colour  sprang  to  her  sallow  cheek,  a  light 
to  her  eyes.  Most  wonderful,  most  interesting  was 
this  engagement  to  Mary,  who  —  strange  to  think ! 
—  had  almost  brought  it  about.  Mr.  Raeburn  was  to 
her  one  of  the  best  and  noblest  of  men,  and  she  felt 
quite  simply,  and  with  a  sort  of  Christian  trembling 
for  him,  the  romance  of  his  great  position.  Was 
Marcella  happy,  was  she  proud  of  him,  as  she  ought 
to  be?     Mary  was  often  puzzled  by  her. 

"  Oh  no !  "  said  Marcella,  with  a  little  laugh. 
"That  wasn't  Mr.  Raeburn.  I  don't  know  where 
your  eyes  were,  Mary.  That  was  Mr.  Wharton,  who 
is  staying  with  us.  He  has  gone  on  to  a  meeting  at 
Widrington." 

Mary's  face  fell.     - 

"  Charles  says  Mr.  Wharton's  influence  in  the  vil- 
lage is  very  bad,"  she  said  quickly.  "He  makes 
everybody  discontented;  sets  everybody  by  the  ears; 
and,  after  all,  what  can  he  do  for  anybody?  " 

"But  that's  just  what  he  Avants  to  do  —  to  make 
them  discontented,"  cried  Marcella.  "Then,  if  they 
vote  for  him,  that's  the  first  practical  step  towards 
improving  their  life." 

"  But  it  won't  give  them  more  wages  or  keep  them 
out  of  the  public  house, "  said  Mary,  bewildered.     She 


MARCELLA,  297 

came  of  a  homety  middle-class  stock,  accustomed  to 
a  small  range  of  thinking,  and  a  high  standard  of 
doing.  Marcella's  political  opinions  were  an  amaze- 
ment, and  on  the  Avhole  a  scandal  to  her.  She  pre- 
ferred generally  to  give  them  a  wide  berth. 

Marcella  did  not  reph\  It  was  not  worth  while  to 
talk  to  Mary  on  these  topics.  But  Mar}^  stuck  to  the 
subject  a  moment  longer. 

"You  can't  want  him  to  get  in,  though?"  she  said 
in  a  puzzled  voice,  as  she  led  the  way  to  the  little 
sitting-room  across  the  passage,  and  took  her  work- 
basket  out  of  the  cupboard.  "  It  was  only  the  week 
before  last  Mr.  Eaeburn  was  speaking  at  the  school- 
room for  Mr.  Dodgson.  You  weren't  there,  Mar- 
cella? " 

"Xo,"  said  Marcella,  shortly.  "I  thought  you 
knew  perfectly  well,  Mary,  that  Mr.  Raeburn  and  I 
don't  agree  politicall}'.  Certainly,  I  hope  Mr. 
Wharton  will  get  in !  " 

Mary  opened  her  eyes  in  wonderment.  She  stared 
at  Marcella,  forgetting  the  sock  she  had  just  slipped 
over  her  left  hand,  and  the  darning  needle  in  her 
right. 

Marcella  laughed. 

"  I  know  you  think  that  two  people  who  are  going 
to  be  married  ought  to  say  ditto  to  each  other  in 
everything.     Don't  you  —  you  dear  old  goose?  " 

She  came  and  stood  beside  Mary,  a  stately  and 
beautiful  creature  in  her  loosened  furs.  She  stroked 
Mary's  straight  sandy  hair  back  from  her  forehead. 
Mary  looked  up  at  her  with  a  thrill,  nay,  a  passionate 
throb  of  envy  —  soon  suppressed. 


298  MAECELLA. 

"I  think,"  she  said  steadily,  "it  is  very  strange  — 
that  love  should  oppose  and  disagree  with  what  it 
loves.'' 

Marcella  went  restlessly  towards  the  fire  and  began 
to  examine  the  things  on  the  mantelpiece. 

"Can't  people  agree  to  differ,  you  sentimentalist? 
Can't  they  respect  each  other,  without  echoing  each 
other  on  every  subject?" 

"  Respect !  "  cried  Mary,  with  a  sudden  scorn,  which 
was  startling  from  a  creature  so  soft. 

"  There,  she  could  tear  me  in  pieces !  "  said  Mar- 
cella, laughing,  though  her  lip  was  not  steady.  "I 
wonder  what  you  would  be  like,  Mary,  if  you  were 
engaged." 

Mary  ran  her  needle  in  and  out  with  lightning 
s^Dced  for  a  second  or  two,  then  she  said  almost  under 
her  breath  — 

"I  shouldn't  be  engaged  unless  I  were  in  love. 
And  if  I  were  in  love,  why,  I  would  go  anywhere  — 
do  anything  —  believe  anything  —  if  he  told  me !  " 

"Believe  anything?  —  Mary  —  you  wouldn't!  " 

"I  don't  mean  as  to  religion,"  said  Mary,  hastily. 
"  But  everything  else  —  I  would  give  it  all  up !  —  gov- 
erning one's  self,  thinking  for  one's  self.  He  should 
do  it,  and  I  would  bless  him !  " 

She  looked  up  crimson,  drawing  a  very  long  breath, 
as  though  from  some  deep  centre  of  painful,  passion- 
ate feeling.  It  was  Marcella' s  turn  to  stare.  Never 
had  Mary  so  revealed  herself  before. 

"Did  you  ever  love  any  one  like  that,  Mary?"  she 
asked  quickly. 

Mary  dropped  her  head  again  over  her  work  and 
did  not  answer  immedia-tel}'. 


MABCELLA.  299 

'^  Do  you  see  —  ■ '  she  said  at  last,  with  a  change  of 
tone,  "do  you  see  that  we  have  got  our  invitation?" 

Marcella,  about  to  give  the  rein  to  an  eager  curi- 
osity Mary's  manner  had  excited  in  her,  felt  herself 
pulled  up  sharply.  When  she  chose,  this  little  meek 
creature  could  put  on  the  same  unapproachableness 
as  her  brother.     Marcella  submitted. 

"Yes,  I  see,"  she  said,  taking  up  a  card  on  the 
manteljpiece.  "  It  will  be  a  great  crush.  I  suppose 
you  know.  They  have  asked  the  whole  count}",  it 
seems  to  me." 

The  card  bore  an  invitation  in  Miss  Raeburn's 
name  for  the  Rector  and  his  sister  to  a  dance  at 
Maxwell  Court  —  the  date  given  was  the  twenty-fifth 
of  January. 

"  What  fun!  "  said  Mary,  her  eye  sparkling.  "  You 
needn't  suppose  that  I  know  enough  of  balls  to  be 
particular.  I  have  only  been  to  one  before  in  my 
life  —  ever.  That  was  at  Cheltenham.  An  aunt  took 
me  —  I  didn't  dance.  There  were  hardly  any  men, 
but  I  enjoyed  it." 

"Well,  you  shall  dance  this  time,"  said  Marcella, 
"for  I  will  make  Mr.  Raeburn  introduce  you." 

"Xonsense,  you  won't  have  any  time  to  think 
about  me.  You  will  be  the  queen  —  everybody  will 
want  to  speak  to  you.  I  shall  sit  in  a  corner  and 
look  at  you  —  that  will  be  enougli  for  me." 

Marcella  went  up  to  her  quickly  and  kissed  her, 
then  she  said,  still  holding  her  — 

"I  know  you  think  I  ought  to  be  very  happy, 
Mary!" 

"  I  should  think  I  do !  "  said  ]\rarv,  with  astonished 


300  MARC  ELL  A. 

emphasis,  when  the  voice  paused  —  "I  should  think 
Idol" 

"I  am  happy  —  and  1  want  to  make  him  happy. 
But  there  are  so  many  things,  so  many  different  aims 
and  motives,  that  complicate  life,  that  puzzle  one. 
One  doesn't  know  how  much  to  give  of  one's  self,  to 
each  —  " 

She  stood  with  her  hand  on  Mary's  shoulder,  look- 
ing away  towards  the  window  and  the  snowy  garden, 
her  brow  frowning  and  distressed. 

"Well,  I  don't  understand,"  said  Mary,  after  a 
pause.  "  As  I  said  before,  it  seems  to  me  so  plain 
and  easy  —  to  be  in  love,  and  give  one's  self  all  — 
to  that.  But  you  are  so  much  cleverer  than  T,  Mar- 
cella,  you  know  so  much  more.  That  makes  the 
difference.  I  can't  be  like  you.  Perhaps  I  don't 
want  to  be !  "  —  and  she  laughed.  "  But  I  can  admire 
you  and  love  you,  and  think  about  you.  There,  now, 
tell  me  what  you  are  going  to  wear?  " 

"  White  satin,  and  Mr.  Raeburn  wants  me  to  wear 
some  pearls  he  is  going  to  give  me,  some  old  pearls 
of  his  mother's.  I  believe  I  shall  find  them  at  Mellor 
when  I  get  back." 

There  was  little  girlish  pleasure  in  the  tone.  It 
was  as  though  Marcella  thought  her  friend  would  be 
more  interested  in  her  bit  of  news  than  she  was  her- 
self, and  was  handing  it  on  to  her  to  please  her. 

"Isn't  there  a  superstition  against  doing  that  — 
before  you're  married?  "  said  Mary,  doubtfully. 

"  As  if  I  should  mind  if  there  was !  But  I  don't 
believe  there  is,  or  Miss  Raeburn  would  have  heard 
of  it.     She's  a  mass  of  such  things.     Well!  I  hope  I 


MABCELLA.  301 

shall  behave  myself  to  please  her  at  this  function. 
There  are  not  man 3^  things  I  do  to  her  satisfaction; 
it's  a  mercy  we're  not  going  to  live  with  her.  Lord 
Maxwell  is  a  dear;  but  she  and  I  w^ould  never  get  on. 
Every  way  of  thinking  she  has,  rubs  me  up  the  w^'ong 
way;  and  as  for  her  view  of  me,  I  am  just  a  tare 
sown  among  her  wheat.  Perhaps  she  is  right 
enough ! " 

Marcella  leant  her  cheek  pensively  on  one  hand, 
and  with  the  other  played  with  the  things  on  the 
mantelpiece. 

Mary  looked  at  her,  and  then  half  smiled,  half 
sighed. 

"I  think  it  is  a  very  good  thing  you  are  to  be  mar- 
ried soon,"  she  said,  with  her  little  air  of  wisdom, 
which  offended  nobody.  "Then  you'll  know  your 
own  mind.     When  is  it  to  be?  " 

"The  end  of  February  —  after  the  election.-* 

"Two  months,"  mused  Mary. 

"Time  enough  to  throw  it  all  up  in,  you  think?" 
said  ^larcella,  recklessly,  putting  on  her  gloves  for 
departure.  "Perhaps  you'll  be  pleased  to  hear  that 
I  am  going  to  a  meeting  of  Mr.  Raeburn's  next 
week?" 

"I  am  glad.     You  ought  to  go  to  them  all." 

"Really,  Mary!  How  am  T  to  lift  you  out  of  this 
squaw  theory  of  matrimony?  Allow  me  to  inform 
you  that  the  following  evening  I  am  going  to  one  of 
Mr.  Wharton's  —  here  in  the  schoolroom !  " 

She  enjoyed  her  friend's  disapproval. 

"By  yourself,  Marcella?     It  isn't  seemly!  " 

"I  shall  take  a  maid.     Mr.  Wl:iarton  is  going  to 


302  MARCELLA. 

tell  us  how  the  people  can  —  get  the  land,  and  how, 
when  they  have  got  it,  all  the  money  that  used  to  go 
in  rent  will  go  in  taking  off  taxes  and  making  life 
comfortable  for  the  poor."  She  looked  at  Mary  with 
a  teasing  smile. 

"  Oh  !  I  dare  say  he  will  make  his  stealing  sound 
very  pretty,"  said  Mary,  with  unwonted  scorn,  as  she 
opened  the  front  door  for  her  friend. 

Marcella  flashed  out. 

''I  know  you  are  a  saint,  Mary,"  she  said,  turning 
back  on  the  path  outside  to  deliver  her  last  shaft.  "  I 
am  often  not  so  sure  whether  you  are  a  Christian !  " 

Then  she  hurried  off  without  another  word,  leaving 
the  flushed  and  shaken  Mary  to  ponder  this  strange 
dictum. 

Marcella  was  just  turning  into  the  straight  drive 
which  led  past  the  church  on  the  left  to  Mellor  House, 
when  she  heard  footsteps  behind  her,  and,  looking 
round,  she  saw  Edward  Hallin. 

''Will  you  give  me  some  lunch.  Miss  Boyce,  in 
return  for  a  message?  I  am  here  instead  of  Aldous, 
who  is  very  sorry  for  himself,  and  will  be  over  later. 
I  am  to  tell  you  that  he  went  down  to  the  station  to 
meet  a  certain  box.  The  box  did  not  come,  but  will 
come  this  afternoon;  so  he  waits  for  it,  and  will  bring 
it  over." 

Marcella  flushed,  smiled,  and  said  she  understood. 
Hallin  moved  on  beside  her,  evidently  glad  of  the 
opportunity  of  a  talk  with  her. 

"We  are  all  going  together  to  the  Gairsley  meeting 
next  week,  aren't  we?  I  am  so  glad  you  are  coming. 
Aldous  will  do  his  best." 


MARCELLA.  303 

There  was  something  very  winning  in  his  tone  to 
her.  It  implied  both  his  old  and  peculiar  friendship 
for  Aldous,  and  his  eager  wish  to  find  a  new  friend  in 
her  —  to  adopt  her  into  their  comradeship.  Some- 
thing very  winning,  too,  in  his  whole  personality  — 
in  the  loosely  knit,  nervous  figure,  the  irregular  charm 
of  feature,  the  benignant  eyes  and  brow  —  even  in 
the  suggestions  of  physical  delicacy,  cheerfully  con- 
cealed, yet  none  the  less  evident.  The  whole  balance 
of  Marcella's  temper  changed  in  some  sort  as  she 
talked  to  him.  She  found  herself  wanting  to  please, 
instead  of  wanting  to  conquer,  to  make  an  effect. 

"You  have  just  come  from  the  village,  I  think?" 
said  Hallin.  "  Aldous  tells  me  you  take  a  great  in- 
terest in  the  people?" 

He  looked  at  her  kindly,  the  look  of  one  who  saw 
all  his  fellow-creatures  nobly,  as  it  were,  and  to  their 
best  advantage. 

"One  may  take  an  interest,"  she  said,  in  a  dissat- 
isfied voice,  poking  at  the  snow  crystals  on  the  road 
before  her  with  the  thorn-stick  she  carried,  "  but  one 
can  do  so  little.  And  I  don't  know  anything;  not 
even  what  I  want  myself." 

"Xo;  one  can  do  next  to  nothing.  And  systems 
and  theories  don't  matter,  or,  at  least,  very  little. 
Yet,  when  you  and  Aldous  are  together,  there  will  be 
more  chance  of  doing,  for  you  than  for  most.  You 
will  be  two  happy  and  powerful  people !  His  power 
will  be  doubled  by  happiness;  I  have  always  known 
that." 

Marcella  was  seized  with  shyness,  looked  away,  and 
did  not  know  what  to   answer.      At   last   she   said 


304  MARC  ELL  A. 

abruptly  —  her  head  still  turned  to  the  woods  on  her 
left  — 

"  Are  you  sure  he  is  going  to  be  happy?  " 

" Shall  I  produce  his  letter  to  me?"  he  said,  ban- 
tering —  "or  letters?  For  I  knew  a  great  deal  about 
you  before  October  5  "  (their  engagement-day),  "and 
suspected  what  was  going  to  hajopen  long  before 
Aldous  did.  Xo ;  after  all,  no !  Those  letters  are  my 
last  bit  of  the  old  friendship.  But  the  new  began 
that  same  day,"  he  hastened  to  add,  smiling:  "  It  may 
be  richer  than  the  old;  I  don't  know.  It  depends  on 
you." 

"I  don't  think  —  I  am  a  very  satisfactory  friend," 
said  Marcella,  still  awkward,  and  speaking  with  diffi- 
culty. 

"Well,  let  me  find  out,  won't  you?  I  don't  think 
Aldous  would  call  me  exacting.  I  believe  he  would 
give  me  a  decent  character,  though  I  tease  him  a  good 
deal.  You  must  let  me  tell  you  sometime  what  he 
did  for  me  —  what  he  was  to  me  —  at  Cambridge?  I 
shall  always  feel  sorry  for  Aldous 's  wife  that  she  did 
not  know  him  at  college." 

A  shock  went  through  Marcella  at  the  word  —  that 
tremendous  word  —  wife.  As  Hallin  said  it,  there 
was  something  intolerable  in  the  claim  it  made ! 

"I  should  like  you  to  tell  me,"  she  said  faintly. 
Then  she  added,  with  more  energy  and  a  sudden 
advance  of  friendliness,  "  But  you  really  must  come 
in  and  rest.  Aldous  told  me  he  thought  the  walk 
from  the  Court  was  too  much  for  you.  Shall  we  take 
this  short  way?" 

And  she  opened  a  little  gate  leading  to  a  door  at 


MARCELLA.  305 

the  side  of  the  house  through  the  Cedar  Garden.  The 
narrow  path  only  admitted  of  single  file,  and  Hallin 
followed  her,  admiring  her  tall  youth  and  the  fine 
black  and  white  of  her  head  and  cheek  as  she  turned 
every  now  and  then  to  speak  to  him.  He  realised 
more  vividly  than  before  the  rare,  exciting  elements 
of  her  beauty,  and  the  truth  in  Aldous's  comparison  of 
her  to  one  of  the  tall  women  in  a  Florentine  fresco. 
But  he  felt  himself  a  good  deal  baffled  by  her,  all 
the  same.  In  some  ways,  so  far  as  any  man  who  is 
not  the  lover  can  understand  such  things,  he  under- 
stood why  Aldous  had  fallen  in  love  with  her;  in 
others,  she  bore  no  relation  whatever  to  the  woman 
his  thoughts  had  been  shaping  all  these  years  as  his 
friend's  fit  and  natural  wife. 

Luncheon  passed  as  easily  as  any  meal  could  be 
expected  to  do,  of  which  Mr.  Boyce  was  partial  presi- 
dent. During  the  preceding  month  or  two  he  had 
definitely  assumed  the  character  of  an  invalid,  although 
to  inexperienced  eyes  like  Marcella's  there  did  not 
seem  to  be  very  much  the  matter.  But,  whatever  the 
facts  might  be,  Mr.  Boyce' s  adroit  use  of  them  had 
made  a  great  difference  to  his  position  in  his  own 
household.  His  wife's  sarcastic  freedom  of  manner 
was  less  apparent;  and  he  was  obviously  less  in  awe 
of  her.  Meanwhile  he  was  as  sore  as  ever  towards 
the  Raeburns,  and  no  more  inclined  to  take  an}^  par- 
ticular pleasure  in  Marcella's  prospects,  or  to  make 
himself  agreeable  towards  his  future  son-in-law.  He 
and  Mrs.  Boyce  had  been  formally  asked  in  Miss  Rae- 
burn's  best  hand  to  the  Court  ball,  but  he  had  at  once 
snappishly   announced   his    intention  of    staying   at 

VOL.  I. —20 


306  MARCELLA. 

home.  Marcella  sometimes  looked  back  with  aston- 
ishment to  his  eagerness  for  social  notice  when  they 
first  came  to  Mellor.  Clearly  the  rising  irritability 
of  illness  had  made  it  doubly  unpleasant  to  him  to 
owe  all  that  he  was  likely  to  get  on  that  score  to  his 
own  daughter;  and,  moreover,  he  had  learnt  to  occupy 
himself  more  continuously  on  his  own  land  and  with 
his  own  affairs. 

As  to  the  state  of  the  village,  neither  Marcella' s 
entreaties  nor  reproaches  had  any  effect  upon  him. 
When  it  appeared  certain  that  he  would  be  summoned 
for  some  specially  flagrant  piece  of  neglect  he  would 
spend  a  few  shillings  on  repairs;  otherwise  not  a 
farthing.  All  that  filial  softening  towards  him  of 
which  Marcella  had  been  conscious  in  the  early 
autumn  had  died  away  in  her.  She  said  to  herself 
now  plainly  and  bitterly  that  it  was  a  misfortune  to 
belong  to  him ;  and  she  would  have  pitied  her  mother 
most  heartily  if  her  mother  had  ever  allowed  her  the 
smallest  expression  of  such  a  feeling.  As  it  was,  she 
was  left  to  wonder  and  chafe  at  her  mother's  new- 
born mildness. 

In  the  drawing-room,  after  luncheon,  Hallin  came 
up  to  Marcella  in  a  corner,  and,  smiling,  drew  from 
his  pocket  a  folded  sheet  of  foolscap. 

"  I  made  Aldous  give  me  his  speech  to  show  you,  be- 
fore to-morrow  night,"  he  said.  "He  would  hardly 
let  me  take  it,  said  it  was  stupid,  and  that  you  Avould 
not  agree  with  it.  But  I  wanted  you  to  see  how  he 
does  these  things.  He  speaks  now,  on  an  average, 
two  or  three  times  a  week.  Each  time,  even  for  an 
audience  of  a  score  or  two  of  village  folk,  he  writes 


3rARCELLA.  307 

out  what  he  has  to  say.  Then  he  speaks  it  entirely 
without  notes.  In  this  way,  though  he  has  not  much 
natural  gift,  he  is  making  himself  gradually  an  effect- 
ive and  practical  speaker.  The  danger  with  him,  of 
course,  is  lest  he  should  be  over-subtle  and  over- 
critical  —  not  simple  and  popular  enough. " 

Marcella  took  the  paper  half  unwillingly  and 
glanced  over  it  in  silence. 

'*  You  are  sorry  he  is  a  Tory,  is  that  it?  "  he  said  to 
her,  but  in  a  lower  voice,  and  sitting  down  beside  her. 

Mrs.  Boyce,  just  catching  the  words  from  where  she 
sat  with  her  work,  at  the  further  side  of  the  room, 
looked  up  with  a  double  wonder  —  wonder  at  Mar- 
cella's  folly,  wonder  still  more  at  the  deference  with 
which  men  like  Aldous  Raeburn  and  Hallin  treated 
her.  It  was  inevitable,  of  course  —  youth  and  beauty 
rule  the  world.  But  the  mother,  under  no  spell  her- 
self, and  of  keen,  cool  wit,  resented  the  intellectual 
confusion,  the  lowering  of  standards  involved. 

"  I  suppose  so,"  said  Marcella,  stupidly,  in  answer  to 
Hallin' s  question,  fidgeting  the  papers  under  her 
hand.  Then  his  curious  confessor's  gift,  his  quiet 
questioning  look  with  its  sensitive  human  interest  to 
all  before  him,  told  upon  her. 

"  I  am  sorry  he  does  not  look  further  ahead,  to  the 
great  changes  that  must  come,"  she  added  hurriedly. 
"This  is  all  about  details,  palliatives.  I  want  him  to 
be  more  impatient." 

"Great  political  changes  you  mean?" 

She  nodded ;  then  added  — 

"But  only  for  the  sake,  of  course,  of  great  social 
changes  to  come  after." 


308  MARCELLA. 

He  pondered  a  moment. 

"  Aldous  has  never  believed  in  great  changes  coming 
suddenly.  He  constantly  looks  upon  me  as  rash  in 
the  things  /adopt  and  believe  in.  But  for  the  con- 
triving, unceasing  effort  of  every  day  to  make  that 
part  of  the  social  machine  in  which  a  man  finds  him- 
self work  better  and  more  equitably,  I  have  never 
seen  Aldous's  equal  —  for  the  steady  passion,  the 
persistence,  of  it." 

She  looked  up.  His  pale  face  had  taken  to  itself 
glow  and  fire;  his  eyes  were  full  of  strenuous,  nay, 
severe  expression.     Her  foolish  pride  rebelled  a  little. 

"Of  course,  I  haven't  seen  much  of  that  yet,"  she 
said  slowly. 

His  look  for  a  moment  was  indignant,  incredulous, 
then  melted  into  a  charming  eagerness. 

"But  you  will!  naturally  you  will!  —  see  every- 
thing. I  hug  myself  sometimes  now  for  pure  plea- 
sure that  some  one  besides  his  grandfather  and  I  will 
know  what  Aldous  is  and  does.  Oh!  the  people  on 
the  estate  know;  his  neighbours  are  beginning  to 
know;  and  now  that  he  is  going  into  Parliament,  the 
country  will  know  some  day,  if  work  and  high  intelli- 
gence have  the  power  I  believe.  But  I  am  impatient! 
In  the  first  place  —  I  may  say  it  to  you,  Miss  Boyce ! 
—  I  want  Aldous  to  come  out  of  that  manner  of  his 
to  strangers,  which  is  the  only  bit  of  the  true  Tory  in 
him ;  you  can  get  rid  of  it,  no  one  else  can  —  How 
long  shall  I  give  you?  —  And  in  the  next,  I  want  the 
world  not  to  be  wasting  itself  on  baser  stuff  when  it 
might  be  praising  Aldous !  " 

"Does  he  mean  Mr.  Wharton?"  thought  Marcella, 


MABCELLA.  309 

quickly.  "  But  this  world  —  our  world  —  hates  him 
and  runs  him  down." 

But  she  had  no  time  to  answer,  for  the  door  opened 
to  admit  Aldous,  flushed  and  bright-ej^ed,  looking 
round  the  room  immediately  for  her,  and  bearing  a 
parcel  in  his  left  hand. 

'•Does  she  love  him  at  all?"  thought  Hallin,  with 
a  nervous  stiffening  of  all  his  lithe  frame,  as  he 
walked  away  to  talk  to  Mrs.  Boyce,  "or,  in  spite  of 
all  her  fine  talk,  is  she  just  marrying  him  for  his 
money  and  position !  " 

Meanwhile,  Aldous  had  drawn  Marcella  into  the 
Stone  Parlour  and  was  standing  by  the  nre  with  his 
arm  covetously  round  her. 

"  I  have  lost  two  hours  with  you  I  might  have  had, 
just  because  a  tiresome  man  missed  his  train.  Make 
up  for  it  by  liking  these  pretty  things  a  little,  for  my 
sake  and  my  mother's." 

He  opened  the  jeweller's  case,  took  out  the  fine  old 
pearls  —  necklace  and  bracelets  —  it  contained,  and 
put  them  into  her  hand.  They  were  his  first  consid- 
erable gift  to  her,  and  had  been  chosen  for  associa- 
tion's sake,  seeing  that  his  mother  had  also  worn  them 
before  her  marriage. 

She  flushed  first  of  all  with  a  natural  pleasure,  the 
girl  delighting  in  her  gaud.  Then  she  allowed  her- 
self to  be  kissed,  which  was,  indeed,  inevitable. 
Finally  she  turned  them  over  and  over  in  her  hands; 
and  he  began  to  be  puzzled  by  her. 

"They  are  much  too  good  for  me.  I  don't  know 
whether  you  ought  to  give  me  such  precious  things. 
I  am  dreadfully  careless  and  forgetful.  Mamma 
always  says  so." 


310  MARCELLA. 

"  I  shall  want  you  to  wear  tliem  so  often  that  you 
won't  have  a  chance  of  forgetting  them, "  he  said  gaily. 

"Will  you?  Will  you  want  me  to  wear  them  so 
often?"  she  asked,  in  an  odd  voice.  "Anyway,  I 
should  like  to  have  just  these,  and  nothing  else.  I 
am  glad  that  we  know  nobody,  and  have  no  friends, 
and  that  I  shall  have  so  few  presents.  You  won't 
give  me  many  jewels,  will  you?  "  she  said  suddenly, 
insistently,  turning  to  him.  "I  shouldn't  know  what 
to  do  with  them.  I  used  to  have  a  magpie's  wish  for 
them;  and  now  —  I  don't  know,  but  they  don't  give 
me  pleasure.  Not  these,  of  course  —  not  these !  "  she 
added  hurriedly,  taking  them  up  and  beginning  to 
fasten  the  bracelets  on  her  wrists. 

Aldous  looked  perplexed. 

"My  darling!"  he  said,  half  laughing,  and  in  the 
tone  of  the  apologist,  "  You  know  we  have  such  a  lot 
of  things.  And  I  am  afraid  my  grandfather  will  want 
to  give  them  all  to  you.  Need  one  think  so  much 
about  it?  It  isn't  as  though  they  had  to  be  bought 
fresh.  They  go  with  pretty  gowns,  don't  they,  and 
other  people  like  to  see  them?" 

"No,  but  it's  what  they  imply  —  the  wealth  —  the 
having  so  much  while  other  people  want  so  much. 
Things  begin  to  oppress  me  so ! "  she  broke  out,  in- 
stinctively moving  away  from  him  that  she  might 
express  herself  with  more  energy.  "  I  like  luxuries 
so  desperately,  and  when  I  get  them  I  seem  to  myself 
now  the  vulgarest  creature  alive,  who  has  no  right  to 
an  opinion  or  an  enthusiasm,  or  anything  else  worth 
having.  You  must  not  let  me  like  them  —  you  must 
help  me  not  to  care  about  them !  " 


MARCELLA.  311 

Kaeburn's  eye  as  lie  looked  at  her  was  tenderness 
itself.  He  could  of  course  neither  mock  her,  nor  put 
what  she  said  aside.  This  question  she  had  raised, 
this  most  thorny  of  all  the  personal  questions  of  the 
present  —  the  ethical  relation  of  the  individual  to  the 
World's  Fair  and  its  vanities  —  was,  as  it  happened, 
a  question  far  more  sternly  and  robustly  real  to  him 
than  it  was  to  her.  Every  word  in  his  few  sentences, 
as  they  stood  talking  by  the  fire,  bore  on  it  for  a  prac- 
tised ear  the  signs  of  a  long  wrestle  of  the  heart. 

But  to  Marcella  it  sounded  tame;  her  ear  was 
haunted  by  the  fragments  of  another  tune  which  she 
seemed  to  be  perpetually  trying  to  recall  and  piece 
together.     Aldous's  slow  minor  made  her  impatient. 

He  turned  presently  to  ask  her  what  she  had  been 
doing  with  her  morning  —  asking  her  with  a  certain 
precision,  and  observing  her  attentively.  She  replied 
that  she  had  been  showing  Mr.  Wharton  the  house, 
that  he  had  walked  down  with  her  to  the  village,  and 
was  gone  to  a  meeting  at  Widrington.  Then  she 
remarked  that  he  was  very  good  company,  and  very 
clever,  but  dreadfully  sure  of  his  own  opinion. 
Finally  she  laughed,  and  said  drily : 

"  There  will  be  no  putting  him  down  all  the  same. 
I  haven't  told  anybody  yet,  but  he  saved  my  life  this 
morning." 

Aldous  caught  her  wrists. 

"  Saved  your  life !     Dear  —  What  do  you  mean?  " 

She  explained,  giving  the  little  incident  all  —  per- 
haps more  than  —  its  dramatic  due.  He  listened 
with  evident  annoyance,  and  stood  pondering  when 
she  came  to  an  end. 


312  MARCELLA. 

"So  I  shall  "be  expected  to  take  quite  a  different 
view  of  him  henceforward?"  he  inquired  at  last, 
looking  round  at  her,  with  a  very  forced  smile. 

"  I  am  sure  I  don't  know  that  it  matters  to  him 
what  view  anybody  takes  of  him,"  she  cried,  flush- 
ing. "  He  certainly  takes  the  frankest  views  of  other 
people,  and  expresses  them." 

And  while  she  played  with  the  pearls  in  their  box 
she  gave  a  vivid  account  of  her  morning's  talk  with 
the  Eadical  candidate  for  West  Brookshire,  and  of 
their  village  expedition. 

There  was  a  certain  relief  in  describing  the  scorn 
with  which  her  acts  and  ideals  had  been  treated;  and, 
underneath,  a  woman's  curiosity  as  to  how  Aldous 
would  take  it. 

"I  don't  know  what  business  he  had  to  express 
himself  so  frankly,"  said  Aldous,  turning  to  the  fire 
and  carefully  putting  it  together.  "  He  hardly  knows 
you  —  it  was,  I  think,  an  impertinence." 

He  stood  upright,  with  his  back  to  the  hearth,  a 
strong,  capable,  frowning  Englishman,  very  much  on 
his  dignity.  Such  a  moment  must  surely  have  be- 
come him  in  the  eyes  of  a  girl  that  loved  him.  Mar- 
cella  proved  restive  under  it. 

"No;  it's  very  natural,"  she  protested  quickly. 
"When  people  are  so  much  in  earnest  they  don't  stop 
to  think  about  impertinence!  I  never  met  any  one 
who  dug  up  one's  thoughts  by  the  roots  as  he  does." 

Aldous  was  startled  by  her  flush,  her  sudden  atti- 
tude of  opposition.  His  intermittent  lack  of  readiness 
overtook  him,  and  there  was  an  awkward  silence. 
Then,  pulling  himself  together  with  a  strong  hand. 


MABCELLA.  313 

he  left  the  subject  and  began  to  talk  of  her  straw- 
plaiting  scheme,  of  the  Gairsley  meeting,  and  of 
Hallin.  But  in  the  middle  Marcella  unexpectedly 
said : 

"  I  wish  you  would  tell  me,  seriously,  what  reasons 
you  have  for  not  liking  Mr.  Wharton?  —  other  than 
politics,  I  mean?  " 

Her  black  eyes  fixed  him  with  a  keen  insistence. 

He  was  silent  a  moment  Avith  surprise;  then  he 
said: 

"  I  had  rather  not  rake  up  old  scores." 

She  shrugged  her  shoulders,  and  he  was  roused  to 
come  and  put  his  arm  round  her  again,  she  shrinking 
and  turning  her  reddened  face  away. 

^'Dearest,"'  he  said,  "you  shall  put  me  in  charity 
with  all  the  world.  But  the  worst  of  it  is,"  he  added, 
half  laughing,  "  that  I  don't  see  how  I  am  to  help  dis- 
liking him  doubly  henceforward  for  having  had  the 
luck  to  put  that  fire  out  instead  of  me  !  " 


CHAPTEE   VI. 

A  FEW  busy  and  eventful  weeks,  days  never  for- 
gotten by  Marcella  in  after  years,  passed  quickly  by. 
Parliament  met  in  the  third  week  of  January.  Min- 
isters, according  to  universal  expectation,  found  them- 
selves confronted  by  a  damaging  amendment  on  the 
Address,  and  were  defeated  by  a  small  majority.  A 
dissolution  and  appeal  to  the  country  followed  im- 
mediately, and  the  meetings  and  speech-makings, 
already  active  throughout  the  constituencies,  were 
carried  forward  with  redoubled  energy.  In  the  Tud- 
ley  End  division,  Aldous  Paeburn  was  fighting  a 
somewhat  younger  opponent  of  the  same  country- 
gentleman  stock  —  a  former  fag  indeed  of  his  at 
Eton  —  whose  zeal  and  fluency  gave  him  plenty  to 
do.  Under  ordinary  circumstances  Aldous  would 
have  thrown  himself  with  all  his  heart  and  mind 
into  a  contest  which  involved  for  him  the  most  stimu- 
lating of  possibilities,  personal  and  public.  But,  as 
these  days  went  over,  he  found  his  appetite  for  the 
struggle  flagging,  and  was  harassed  rather  than  spurred 
by  his  adversary's  activity.  The  real  truth  was  that 
he  could  not  see  enough  of  Marcella !  A  curious  un- 
certainty and  unreality,  moreover,  seemed  to  have 
crept  into  some  of  their  relations ;  and  it  had  begun 
to  gall  and  fever  him  that  Wharton  should  be  staying 

314 


MARCELLA.  315 

there,  week  after  week,  beside  her,  in  her  father's 
house,  able  to  spend  all  the  free  intervals  of  the  fight 
in  her  society,  strengthening  an  influence  which  Kae- 
burn's  pride  and  delicacy  had  hardly  allowed  him  as 
yet,  in  spite  of  his  instinctive  jealousy  from  the  begin- 
ning, to  take  into  his  thoughts  at  all,  but  which  was 
now  apparent,  not  only  to  himself  but  to  others. 

In  vain  did  he  spend  every  possible  hour  at  Mellor 
he  could  snatch  from  a  conflict  in  which  his  party,  his 
grandfather,  and  his  own  personal  fortunes  were  all 
deeply  interested.  In  vain  —  with  a  tardy  instinct 
that  it  was  to  Mr.  Boyce's  dislike  of  himself,  and  to 
the  wilful  fancy  for  Wharton's  society  which  this  dis- 
like had  promoted,  that  Wharton's  long  stay  at  Mellor 
was  largely  owing  —  did  Aldous  subdue  himself  to 
propitiations  and  amenities  wholly  foreign  to  a  strong 
character  long  accustomed  to  rule  without  thinking 
about  it.  Mr.  Boyce  showed  himself  not  a  whit  less 
partial  to  Wharton  than  before ;  pressed  him  at  least 
twice  in  Raeburn's  hearing  to  make  Mellor  his  head- 
quarters so  long  as  it  suited  him,  and  behaved  with  an 
irritable  malice  with  regard  to  some  of  the  details  of 
the  wedding  arrangements,  which  neither  Mrs.  Boyce's 
indignation  nor  Marcella's  discomfort  and  annoyance 
could  restrain.  Clearly  there  was  in  him  a  strong 
consciousness  that  by  his  attentions  to  the  Radical 
candidate  he  was  asserting  his  independence  of  the 
Raeburns,  and  nothing  for  the  moment  seemed  to  be 
more  of  an  object  with  him,  even  though  his  daughter 
was  going  to  marry  the  Raeburns'  heir.  Meanwhile, 
Wharton  was  always  ready  to  walk  or  chat  or  play 
billiards  with  his  host  in  the  intervals  of  his  own  cam- 


316  MARCELLA. 

paign ;  and  his  society  had  thus  come  to  count  con- 
siderably among  the  scanty  daily  pleasures  of  a  sickly 
and  disappointed  man.  Mrs.  Boyce  did  not  like  her 
guest,  and  took  no  pains  to  disguise  it,  least  of  all 
from  Wharton.  But  it  seemed  to  be  no  longer  possi- 
ble for  her  to  take  the  vigorous  measures  she  would 
once  have  taken  to  get  rid  of  him. 

In  vain,  too,  did  Miss  Raeburn  do  her  best  for  the 
nephew  to  whom  she  was  still  devoted,  in  spite  of  his 
deplorable  choice  of  a  wife.  She  took  in  the  situation 
as  a  whole  probably  sooner  than  anybody  else,  and  she 
instantly  made  heroic  efforts  to  see  more  of  Marcella, 
to  get  her  to  come  oftener  to  the  Court,  and  in  many 
various  ways  to  procure  the  poor  deluded  Aldous  more 
of  his  betrothed's  society.  She  paid  many  chattering 
and  fussy  visits  to  Mellor  —  visits  which  chafed  Mar- 
cella —  and  before  long,  indeed,  roused  a  certain  sus- 
picion in  the  girl's  wilful  mind.  Between  Miss 
Eaeburn  and  Mrs.  Boyce  there  was  a  curious  under- 
standing. It  was  always  tacit,  and  never  amounted  to 
friendship,  still  less  to  intimacy.  But  it  often  yielded 
a  certain  melancholy  consolation  to  Aldous  Raeburn's 
great-aunt.  It  was  clear  to  her  that  this  strange 
mother  was  just  as  much  convinced  as  she  was  that 
Aldous  was  making  a  great  mistake,  and  that  Marcella 
was  not  worthy  of  him.  But  the  engagement  being 
there  —  a  fact  not  apparently  to  be  undone  —  both 
ladies  showed  themselves  disposed  to  take  pains  with 
it,  to  protect  it  against  aggression.  Mrs.  Boyce  found 
herself  becoming  more  of  a  chaperon  than  she  had 
ever  yet  professed  to  be;  and  Miss  Eaeburn,  as  we 
have  said,  made  repeated  efforts  to  capture  Marcella 
and  hold  her  for  Aldous,  her  lawful  master. 


MABCELLA,  317 

But  Marcella  proved  extremely  difficult  to  manage. 
In  the  first  place  she  was  a  young  person  of  many 
engagements.  Her  village  scheme  absorbed  a  great 
deal  of  time.  She  was  deep  in  a  varied  correspond- 
ence, in  the  engagement  of  teachers,  the  provision  of 
work-rooms,  the  collecting  and  registering  of  workers, 
the  organisation  of  local  committees  and  so  forth. 
New  sides  of  the  girl's  character,  new  capacities  and 
capabilities  were  coming  out ;  new  forms  of  her  natural 
power  over  her  fellows  were  developing  every  day; 
she  was  beginning,  under  the  incessant  stimulus  of 
Wharton's  talk,  to  read  and  think  on  social  and  eco- 
nomic subjects,  with  some  system  and  coherence,  and 
it  was  evident  that  she  took  a  passionate  mental 
pleasure  in  it  all.  And  the  more  pleasure  these 
activities  gave  her,  the  less  she  had  to  spare  for  those 
accompaniments  of  her  engagement  and  her  position 
that  was  to  be,  which  once,  as  Mrs.  Boyce's  sharp  eyes 
perceived,  had  been  quite  normally  attractive  to  her. 

"  Why  do  you  take  up  her  time  so,  with  all  these 
things  ? "  said  Miss  Raeburn  impatiently  to  Lady 
Winterbourne,  who  was  now  Marcella's  obedient  helper 
in  everything  she  chose  to  initiate.  "  She  doesn't  care 
for  anything  she  ought  to  care  about  at  this  time,  and 
Aldous  sees  nothing  of  her.  As  for  her  trousseau, 
Mrs.  Boyce  declares  she  has  had  to  do  it  all.  Marcella 
won't  even  go  up  to  London  to  have  her  wedding-dress 
fitted ! " 

Lady  Winterbourne  looked  up  bewildered. 

"But  I  can't  make  her  go  and  have  her  wedding- 
dress  fitted,  Agneta !  And  I  always  feel  you  don't 
know  what  a  fine  creature  she  is.     You  don't  really 


318  MARCELLA. 

appreciate  her.  It's  splendid  the  ideas  she  has  about 
this  work,  and  the  way  she  throws  herself  into  it." 

"  I  dare  say  ! "  said  Miss  Eaeburn,  indignantly. 
"That's  just  what  I  object  to.  Why  can't  she  throw 
herself  into  being  in  love  with  Aldous  !  That's  her 
business,  I  imagine,  just  now  —  if  she  were  a  young 
woman  like  anybody  else  one  had  ever  seen  —  instead 
of  holding  aloof  from  everything  he  does,  and  never 
being  there  when  he  wants  her.  Oh !  I  have  no 
patience  with  her.  But,  of  course,  I  must  — "  said 
Miss  E,aeburn,  hastily  correcting  herself  — ''  of  course, 
I  must  have  patience." 

"  It  will  all  come  right,  I  am  sure,  when  they  are 
married,"  said  Lady  Winterbourne,  rather  helplessly. 

"That's  just  what  my  brother  says,"  cried  Miss 
E-aeburn,  exasperated.  "He  won't  hear  a  word  — 
declares  she  is  odd  and  original,  and  that  Aldous  will 
soon  know  how  to  manage  her.  It's  all  very  well; 
nowadays  men  do7i't  manage  their  wives ;  that's  all 
gone  with  the  rest.  And  I  am  sure,  my  dear,  if  she 
behaves  after  she  is  married  as  she  is  doing  now,  with 
that  most  objectionable  person  Mr.  Wharton  —  walking, 
and  talking,  and  taking  up  his  ideas,  and  going  to  his 
meetings  —  she'll  be  a  handful  for  any  husband." 

"  Mr.  Wharton ! "  said  Lady  Winterbourne,  aston- 
ished. Her  absent  black  eyes,  the  eyes  of  the  dreamer, 
of  the  person  who  lives  by  a  few  intense  affections, 
saw  little  or  nothing  of  what  was  going  on  immedi- 
ately under  them.  "  Oh  !  but  that  is  because  he  is 
staying  in  the  house,  and  he  is  a  Socialist ;  she  calls 
herself  one  —  " 

"My  dear,"  said   Miss   Raeburn,  interrupting   em- 


MARCELLA.  319 

phatically ;  "if  —  you  —  liacl  —  now  —  an  unmarried 
daughter  at  home  —  engaged  or  not  —  would  you  care 
to  have  Harry  Wharton  hanging  about  after  her  ?  " 

"Harry  Wharton?"  said  the  other,  pondering; 
"he  is  the  Levens'  cousin,  isn't  he?  he  used  to  stay 
with  them.  I  don't  think  I  have  seen  him  since 
then.  But  yes,  I  do  remember ;  there  was  something 
—  something  disagreeable  ?  " 

She  stopped  with  a  hesitating,  interrogative  air. 
No  one  talked  less  scandal,  no  one  put  the  uglinesses 
of  life  away  from  her  with  a  hastier  hand  than  Lady 
Winterbourne.  She  was  one  of  the  most  consistent  of 
moral  epicures. 

"Yes,  extremely  disagreeable,"  said  Miss  Eaeburn, 
sitting  bolt  upright.  "  The  man  has  no  principles  — 
never  had  any,  since  he  was  a  child  in  petticoats.  I 
know  Aldous  thinks  him  unscrupulous  in  politics  and 
everything  else.  And  then,  just  when  you  are  worked 
to  death,  and  have  hardly  a  moment  for  your  own 
affairs,  to  have  a  man  of  that  type  always  at  hand  to 
spend  odd  times  with  your  lady  love  —  flattering  her, 
engaging  her  in  his  ridiculous  schemes,  encouraging 
her  in  all  the  extravagances  she  has  got  her  head 
twice  too  full  of  already,  setting  her  against  your  own 
ideas  and  the  life  she  will  have  to  live  —  you  will 
admit  that  it  is  not  exactly  soothing  I " 

"  Poor  Aldous  !  "  said  Lady  Winterbourne,  thought- 
fully, looking  far  ahead  with  her  odd  look  of  absent 
rigidity,  which  had  in  realit}^  so  little  to  do  Avitli  a 
character  essentially  soft ;  "  but  you  see  he  did  know 
all  about  her  opinions.  And  I  don't  think  —  no,  I 
really  don't  think  —  I  could  speak  to  her." 


320  MARCELLA. 

In  truth,  this  woman  of  nearly  seventy  —  old  in 
years,  but  wholly  young  in  temperament  —  was  alto- 
gether under  Marcella's  spell  —  more  at  ease  with  her 
already  than  with  most  of  her  own  children,  finding  in 
her  satisfaction  for  a  hundred  instincts,  suppressed 
or  starved  by  her  own  environment,  fascinated  by  the 
girl's  friendship,  and  eagerly  grateful  for  her  visits. 
Miss  Raeburn  thought  it  all  both  incomprehensible 
and  silly. 

"  Apparently  no  one  can  ! "  cried  that  lady  in 
answer  to  her  friend's  demurrer  ;  '•  is  all  the  world 
afraid  of  her  ?  " 

And  she  departed  in  wrath.  But  she  knew,  never- 
theless, that  she  was  just  as  much  afraid  of  Marcella 
as  anybody  else.  In  her  own  sphere  at  the  Court,  or 
in  points  connected  with  Avhat  was  due  to  the  family, 
or  to  Lord  Maxwell  especially,  as  the  head  of  it,  this 
short,  capable  old  lady  could  hold  her  own  amply  with 
Aldous's  betrothed,  could  maintain,  indeed,  a  sharp 
and  caustic  dignity,  which  kept  Marcella  very  much 
in  order.  Miss  Raeburn,  on  the  defensive,  was 
strong;  but  when  it  came  to  attacking  Marcella's 
own  ideas  and  proceedings,  Lord  Maxwell's  sister 
became  shrewdly  conscious  of  her  own  weaknesses. 
She  had  no  wish  to  measure  her  wits  on  any  general 
field  with  Marcella's.  She  said  to  herself  that  the 
girl  was  too  clever  and  would  talk  you  down. 

Meanwhile,  things  went  untowardly  in  various 
ways.  Marcella  disciplined  herself  before  the  Gairs- 
ley  meeting,  and  went  thither  resolved  to  give  Aldous 
as  much  sympathy  as  she  could.  But  the  perform- 
ance only  repelled  a  mind  over  which  Wharton  was 


MARCELLA.  321 

ever}"  day  gaining  more  influence.  There  was  a  portly 
baronet  in  the  chair ;  there  were  various  Primrose 
Dames  on  the  platform  and  among  the  audience ; 
there  was  a  considerable  representation  of  clergy ; 
and  the  labourers  present  seemed  to  Marcella  the 
most  obsequious  of  their  kind.  Aldous  spoke  well  — 
or  so  the  audience  seemed  to  think ;  but  she  could 
feel  no  enthusiasm  for  anything  that  he  said.  She 
gathered  that  he  advocated  a  Government  inspection 
of  cottages,  more  stringent  precautions  against  cattle 
disease,  better  technical  instruction,  a  more  abundant 
provision  of  allotments  and  small  freeholds,  &c. ;  and 
he  said  many  cordial  and  wise-sounding  things  in 
praise  of  a  progress  which  should  go  safely  and  wisely 
from  step  to  step,  and  run  no  risks  of  dangerous  reac- 
tion. But  the  assumptions  on  which,  as  she  told  her- 
self rebelliously,  it  all  went  —  that  the  rich  and  the 
educated  must  rule,  and  the  poor  obe}" ;  that  existing 
classes  and  rights,  the  forces  of  individualism  and 
competition,  must  and  would  go  on  pretty  much  as 
they  were ;  that  great  houses  and  great  people,  the 
English  land  and  game  system,  and  all  the  rest  of  our 
odious  class  paraphernalia  were  in  the  order  of  the 
universe  ;  these  ideas,  conceived  as  the  furniture  of 
Aldous's  mmd,  threw  her  again  into  a  ferment  of 
passionate  opposition.  And  when  the  noble  baronet 
in  the  chair  —  to  her  eye,  a  pompous,  frock-coated 
stick,  sacrificing  his  after-dinner  sleep  for  once,  that 
he  might  the  more  effectually  secure  it  in  the  future 
—  proposed  a  vote  of  confidence  in  the  Conservative 
candidate ;  when  the  vote  was  carried  with  much 
cheering  and   rattling  of   feet ;    when  the   Primrose 

VOL.    1.  — 21 


322  MARCELLA. 

Dames  on  the  platform  smiled  graciously  down  upon 
the  meeting  as  one  smiles  at  good  children  in  their 
moments  of  pretty  behaviour;  and  when,  finally, 
scores  of  toil-stained  labourers,  young  and  old,  went 
up  to  have  a  word  and  a  hand-shake  with  "  Muster 
Raeburn,"  Marcella  held  herself  aloof  and  cold,  with 
a  look  that  threatened  sarcasm  should  she  be  spoken 
to.  Miss  Kaeburn,  glancing  furtively  round  at  her, 
was  outraged  anew  by  her  expression. 

"  She  will  be  a  thorn  in  all  our  sides,"  thought  that 
lady.  "Aldous  is  a  fool!  —  a  poor  dear  noble  mis- 
guided fool ! " 

Then  on  the  way  home,  she  and  Aldous  drove  to- 
gether. Marcella  tried  to  argue,  grew  vehement,  and 
said  bitter  things  for  the  sake  of  victory,  till  at  last 
Aldous,  tired,  worried,  and  deeply  wounded,  could 
bear  it  no  longer. 

"  Let  it  be,  dear,  let  it  be  !  "  he  entreated,  snatching 
at  her  hand  as  they  rolled  along  through  a  stormy 
night.  "  We  grope  in  a  dark  world  —  you  see  some 
points  of  light  in  it,  I  see  others  —  won't  you  give  me 
credit  for  doing  what  I  can  —  seeing  what  I  can  ?  I 
am  sure  —  sure  —  you  will  find  it  easier  to  bear  with 
differences  when  we  are  quite  together  —  when  there 
are  no  longer  all  these  hateful  duties  and  engagements 
—  and  persons  —  between  us." 

"  Persons  !  I  don't  know  what  you  mean ! "  said 
Marcella. 

Aldous  only  just  restrained  himself  in  time.  Out 
of  sheer  fatigue  and  slackness  of  nerve  he  had  been  all 
but  betrayed  into  some  angry  speech  on  the  subject 
of  AVharton,  the  echoes  of  whose  fantastic  talk,  as  it 


MARC  ELLA.  323 

seemed  to  him,  were  always  hanging  about  Mellor 
when  he  went  there.  But  he  did  refrain,  and  was 
thankful.  That  he  was  indeed  jealous  and  disturbed, 
that  he  had  been  jealous  and  disturbed  from  the  mo- 
ment Harry  Wharton  had  set  foot  in  ]\Iellor,  he  him- 
self knew  quite  well.  But  to  play  the  jealous  part  in 
public  was  more  than  the  Raeburn  pride  could  bear. 
There  was  the  dread,  too,  of  defining  the  situation  — 
of  striking  some  vulgar  irrevocable  note. 

So  he  parried  Marcella's  exclamation  by  asking  her 
whether  she  had  any  idea  how  many  human  hands  a 
parliamentary  candidate  had  to  shake  between  break- 
fast and  bed;  and  then,  having  so  slipped  into  another 
tone,  he  tried  to  amuse  himself  and  her  by  some  of 
the  daily  humours  of  the  contest.  She  lent  herself 
to  it  and  laughed,  her  look  mostly  turned  away  from 
him,  as  though  she  were  following  the  light  of  the 
carriage  lamps  as  it  slipped  along  the  snow-laden 
hedges,  her  hand  lying  limply  in  his.  But  neither 
were  really  gay.  His  soreness  of  mind  grew  as  in  the 
pauses  of  talk  he  came  to  realise  more  exactly  the 
failure  of  the  evening  —  of  his  very  successful  and 
encouraging  meeting  —  from  his  own  private  point  of 
view. 

"Didn't  you  like  that  last  speech?"  he  broke  out 
suddenly  —  "  that  labourer's  speech  ?  I  thought  you 
would.  It  was  entirely  his  own  idea  —  nobody  asked 
him  to  do  it." 

In  reality  Gairsle}'  represented  a  corner  of  the  estate 
which  Aldous  had  specially  made  his  own.  He  had 
spent  much  labour  and  thought  on  the  improvement  of 
what  had  been  a  backward  district,  and  in  particular 


324  MARCELLA. 

he  had  tried  a  small  profit-sharing  experiment  upon  a 
farm  there  which  he  had  taken  into  his  own  hands  for 
the  purpose.  The  experiment  had  met  with  fair  suc- 
cess, and  the  labourer  in  question,  who  was  one  of  the 
workers  in  it,  had  volunteered  some  approving  remarks 
upon  it  at  the  meeting. 

"  Oh  !  it  was  very  proper  and  respectful !  "  said 
Marcella,  hastily. 

The  carriage  rolled  on  some  yards  before  Aldous 
replied.  Then  he  spoke  in  a  drier  tone  than  he  had 
ever  yet  used  to  her. 

"You  do  it  injustice,  I  think.  The  man  is  per- 
fectly independent,  and  an  honest  fellow.  I  was 
grateful  to  him  for  what  he  said." 

"  Of  course,  I  am  no  judge  !  "  cried  Marcella,  quickly 

—  repentantly.  "Why  did  you  ask  me?  I  saw 
everything  crooked,  I  suppose  —  it  was  your  Prim- 
rose Dames  —  they  got  upon  my  nerves.  Why  did 
you  have  them  ?     I  didn't  mean  to  vex  and  hurt  you 

—  I  didn't  indeed  —  it  was  all  the  other  way — and 
now  I  have." 

She  turned  upon  him  laughing,  but  also  half  crying, 
as  he  could  tell  by  the  flutter  of  her  breath. 

He  vowed  he  was  not  hurt,  and  once  more  changed 
both  talk  and  tone.  They  reached  the  drive's  end 
without  a  word  of  Wharton.  But  Marcella  went  to 
bed  hating  herself,  and  Aldous,  after  his  solitar}^ 
drive  home,  sat  up  long  and  late,  feverishly  pacing 
and  thinking. 

Then  next  evening  how  differently  things  fell ! 
Marcella,  having  spent  the  afternoon  at  the  Court, 


MARCELLA.  825 

hearing  all  the  final  arrangements  for  the  ball,  and 
bearing  with  Miss  Raeburn  in  a  way  which  aston- 
ished herself,  came  home  full  of  a  sense  of  duty  done, 
and  announced  to  her  mother  that  she  was  going  to 
Mr.  Wharton's  meeting  in  the  Baptist  chapel  that 
evening. 

"  Unnecessary,  don't  you  think  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Boyce, 
lifting  her  eyebrows.  "  However,  if  you  go,  I  shall  go 
with  you." 

Most  mothers,  dealing  with  a  girl  of  twenty-one, 
under  the  circumstances,  Avould  have  said,  "  I  had 
rather  you  stayed  at  home."  jMrs.  Boyce  never  em- 
ployed locutions  of  this  kind.  She  recognised  with 
perfect  calmness  that  Marcella's  bringing  up, ,  and 
especiall}^  her  independent  years  in  London,  had  made 
it  impossible. 

Marcella  fidgeted. 

*'I  don't  know  why  you  should,  mamma.  Papa 
will  be  sure  to  w^ant  you.  Of  course,  I  shall  take 
Deacon." 

"  Please  order  dinner  a  quarter  of  an  hour  earlier, 
and  tell  Deacon  to  bring  down  my  walking  things  to 
the  hall,"  was  all  Mrs.  Boyce  said  in  answer. 

Marcella  walked  upstairs  with  her  head  very  stiff. 
So  her  mother,  and  Miss  Raeburn  too,  thought  it 
necessary  to  keep  watch  on  her.  How  preposterous  ! 
She  thought  of  her  free  and  easy  relations  with  her 
Kensington  student-friends,  and  wondered  when  a 
more  reasonable  idea  of  the  relations  between  men 
and  women  would  begin  to  penetrate  English  country 
society. 

Mr.  Bo3^ce  talked  recklessly  of  going  too. 


326  MARCELLA. 

"Of  course,  I  know  he  will  spout  seditious  non- 
sense," he  said  irritably  to  his  wife,  "  but  it's  the  fel- 
low's power  of  talk  that  is  so  astonishing.  He  isn't 
troubled  with  3'our  Raeburn  heaviness." 

Marcella  came  into  the  room  as  the  discussion  was 
going  on. 

"If  papa  goes,"  she  said  in  an  undertone  to  her 
mother  as  she  passed  her,  "it  will  spoil  the  meeting- 
The  labourers  will  turn  sulky.  I  shouldn't  wonder  if 
they  did  or  said  something  unpleasant.  As  it  is,  you 
had  much  better  not  come,  mamma.  They  are  sure  to 
attack  the  cottages  —  and  other  things." 

Mrs.  Boyce  took  no  notice  as  far  as  she  herself  was 
concerned,  but  her  quiet  decision  at  last  succeeded  in 
leaving  Mr.  Boyce  safely  settled  by  the  lire,  provided 
as  usual  Avith  a  cigarette  and  a  French  novel. 

The  meeting  was  held  in  a  little  iron  Baptist  chapel, 
erected  some  few  years  before  on  the  outskirts  of  the 
village,  to  the  grief  and  scandal  of  Mr.  Harden.  There 
were  about  a  hundred  and  twenty  labourers  present, 
and  at  the  back  some  boys  and  girls,  come  to  giggle 
and  make  a  noise  —  nobody  else.  The  Baptist  minis- 
ter, a  smooth-faced  young  man,  possessed,  as  it  turned 
out,  of  opinions  little  short  of  Wharton's  own  in  point 
of  vigour  and  rigour,  was  already  in  command.  A  few 
late  comers,  as  they  slouched  in,  stole  side  looks  at 
Marcella  and  the  veiled  lady  in  black  beside  her,  sit- 
ting in  the  corner  of  the  last  bench ;  and  ^Marcella 
nodded  to  one  or  two  of  the  audience,  Jim  Hurd 
amongst  them.  Otherwise  no  one  took  any  notice  of 
them.  It  was  the  first  time  that  Mrs.  Boyce  had  been 
inside  any  building  belonging  to  the  village. 


MABCELLA.  327 

"Wharton  arrived  late.  He  had  been  canvassing  at 
a  distance,  and  neither  of  the  Mellor  ladies  had  seen 
him  all  day.  He  slipped  up  the  bench  with  a  bow 
and  a  smile  to  greet  them.  "  I  am  done  !  "  he  said 
to  Marcella,  as  he  took  off  his  hat.  ''^ly  voice  is 
gone,  my  mind  ditto.  I  shall  drivel  for  half  an  hour 
and  let  them  go.  Did  you  ever  see  such  a  stolid 
set  ?  " 

"  You  will  rouse  them,"  said  Marcella. 

Her  eyes  were  animated,  her  colour  high,  and  she 
took  no  account  at  all  of  his  plea  of  weariness. 

'•You  challenge  me?  I  must  rouse  them — that 
was  what  you  came  to  see  ?     Is  that  it  ?  " 

She  laughed  and  made  no  answer.  He  left  her  and 
went  up  to  the  minister's  desk,  the  men  shuffling  their 
feet  a  little,  and  rattling  a  stick  here  and  there  as  he 
did  so. 

The  young  minister  took  the  chair  and  introduced 
the  speaker.  He  had  a  strong  Yorkshire  accent,  and 
his  speech  was  divided  between  the  most  vehement 
attacks,  couched  in  the  most  Scriptural  language,  upon 
capital  and  privilege  —  that  is  to  say,  on  landlords 
and  the  land  system,  on  State  churches  and  the  "  idle 
rich,"  interspersed  with  quavering  returns  upon  him- 
self, as  though  he  were  scared  by  his  own  invective. 
"  My  brothers,  let  us  be  calm ! "  he  would  say  after 
every  burst  of  passion,  with  a  long  deep-voiced  em- 
phasis on  the  last  word  ;  "  let  us,  above  all  things,  be 
calm ! "  —  and  then  bit  by  bit  voice  and  denunciation 
would  begin  to  mount  again  towards  a  fresh  climax 
of  loud-voiced  attack,  only  to  sink  again  to  the  same 
lamb-like  refrain.      Mrs.  Boyce's  thin  lip   twitched, 


328  MARCELLA, 

and  Marcella  bore  the  good  gentleman  a  grudge  for 
providing  her  mother  with  so  much  unnecessary 
amusement. 

As  for  Wharton,  at  the  opening  of  his  speech  he 
spoke  both  awkwardly  and  flatly ;  and  Marcella  had 
a  momentary  shock.  He  was,  as  he  said,  tired,  and 
his  wits  were  not  at  command.  He  began  with  the 
general  political  programme  of  the  party  to  which  — 
on  its  extreme  left  wing  —  he  proclaimed  himself  to 
belong.  This  programme  was,  of  course,  by  now  a 
newspaper  commonplace  of  the  stalest  sort.  He  him- 
self recited  it  without  enthusiasm,  and  it  was  received^ 
without  a  spark,  so  far  as  appeared,  of  interest  or 
agreement.  The  minister  gave  an  "  hear,  hear,"  of  a 
loud  official  sort ;  the  men  made  no  sign. 

"  They  might  be  a  set  of  Dutch  ch-eeses  !  "  thought 
Marcella,  indignantly,  after  a  while.  "  But,  after  all, 
why  should  they  care  for  all  this  ?  I  shall  have  to 
get  up  in  a  minute  and  stop  those  children  romping." 

But  through  all  this,  as  it  were,  Wharton  was  only 
waiting  for  his  second  wind.  There  came  a  moment 
when,  dropping  his  quasi-official  and  high  political 
tone,  he  said  suddenly  with  another  voice  and  emphasis  : 

"Well  now,  my  men,  I'll  be  bound  you're  thinking, 
'  That's  all  pretty  enough  !  —  we  haven't  got  anything 
against  it  —  we  dare  say  it's  all  right ;  but  we  don't 
care  a  brass  ha'porth  about  any  of  it !  If  that's  all 
you'd  got  to  say  to  us,  you  might  have  let  us  bide  at 
home.  We  don't  have  none  too  much  time  to  rest 
our  bones  a  bit  by  the  fire,  and  talk  to  the  missus  and 
the  kids.  Why  didn't  you  let  us  alone,  instead  of 
bringing  us  out  in  the  cold  ?  ' 


MARCELLA.  329 

"Well,  but  it  isiiH  all  I've  got  to  say — and  you 
know  it  —  because  I've  spoken  to  you  before.  What 
I've  been  talking  about  is  all  true,  and  all  important, 
and  you'll  see  it  some  day  when  you're  fit.  But  what 
can  men  in  your  position  know  about  it,  or  care  about 
it  ?     What  do  any  of  you  want,  but  bread  —  " 

—  He  thundered  on  the  desk  — 

"  —  a  bit  of  decent  comfort  —  a  bit  of  freedom  — 
freedom  from  tyrants  who  call  themselves  your  bet- 
ters !  —  a  bit  of  rest  in  your  old  age,  a  home  that's 
something  better  than  a  dog-hole,  a  wage  that's  some- 
thing better  than  starvation,  an  honest  share  in  the 
wealth  you  are  making  every  day  and  every  hour  for 
other  peoi^le  to  gorge  and  plunder  !  " 

He  stopped  a  moment  to  see  how  that  took.  A  knot 
of  young  men  in  a  corner  rattled  their  sticks  vigor- 
ously. The  older  men  had  begun  at  any  rate  to  look 
at  the  speaker.  The  boys  on  the  back  benches  in- 
stinctively stopped  scuffling. 

Then  he  threw  himself  into  a  sort  of  rapid  question- 
and-answer.  What  were  their  wages  ?  —  eleven  shil- 
lings a  week  ? 

"  Not  they  ! "  cried  a  man  from  the  middle  of  the 
chapel.  "  Yer  mus'  reckon  it  wet  an'  dry.  I  wor 
turned  back  two  days  las'  week,  an'  two  days  this, 
fower  shillin' lost  each  week  —  that's  what  I  call  skin- 
nin'  ov  yer." 

Wharton  nodded  at  him  approvingly.  By  now  he 
knew  the  majority  of  the  men  in  each  village  by 
name,  and  never  forgot  a  face  or  a  biography. 
"  You're  right  there,  Watkins.  Eleven  shillings, 
then,   when   it   isn't    less,   never    more,  and  precious 


330  MARCELLA. 

often  less  ;  and  harvest  money  —  the  people  that  are 
kind  enough  to  come  round  and  ask  you  to  vote  Tory 
for  them  make  a  deal  of  that,  don't  they  ?  —  and  a 
few  odds  and  ends  here  and  there — precious  few  of 
them  !  There !  that's  about  it  for  wages,  isn't  it  ? 
Thirty  pounds  a  year,  somewhere  about,  to  keep  a 
wife  and  children  on  —  and  for  ten  hours  a  day  work, 
not  counting  meal  times  —  that's  it,  I  think.  Oh,  you 
are  well  off  I  —  aren't  j^ou  ?  " 

He  dropped  his  arms,  folded,  on  the  desk  in  front 
of  him,  and  paused  to  look  at  them,  his  bright  kin- 
dling eye  running  over  rank  after  rank.  A  chuckle  of 
rough  laughter,  bitter  and  jeering,  ran  through  the 
benches.     Then  they  broke  out  and  applauded  him. 

Well,  and  about  their  cottages  ? 

His  glance  caught  ^larcella,  passed  to  her  mother 
sitting  stiffly  motionless  under  her  veil.  He  drew 
himself  up,  thought  a  moment,  then  threw  himself 
far  forward  again  over  the  desk  as  though  the  better 
to  launch  what  he  had  to  say,  his  voice  taking  a  grind- 
ing determined  note. 

He  had  been  in  all  parts  of  the  division,  he  said ; 
seen  everything,  inquired  into  everything.  No  doubt, 
on  the  great  properties  there  had  been  a  good  deal 
done  of  late  years  —  public  opinion  had  effected  some- 
thing, the  landlords  had  been  forced  to  disgorge  some 
of  the  gains  wrested  from  labour,  to  pay  for  the  de- 
cent housing  of  the  labourer.  But  did  anybody  sup- 
pose that  enough  had  been  done  ?  Why,  he  had  seen 
de7is  —  aye,  on  the  best  properties  — ^lot  fit  for  the 
pigs  that  the  farmers  wouldn't  let  tlie  labourers  keep, 
lest  they  should  steal  their  straw  for  the  littering  of 


MARCELLA.  331 

them  !  —  where  a  man  was  bound  to  live  the  life  of  a 
beast,  and  his  children  after  him  — 

A  tall  thin  man  of  about  sixt}''  rose  in  his  place, 
and  pointed  a  long  quavering  finger  at  the  speaker. 

"  What  is  it,  Darwin  ?  speak  up  !  "  said  Wharton, 
dropping  at  once  into  the  colloquial  tone,  and  stooping 
forward  to  listen. 

"  jVIy  sleepin'  room  's  six  foot  nine  b}'  seven  foot  six. 
We  have  to  shift  our  bed  for  the  rain  's  comin'  in,  an" 
yer  may  see  for  yoursels  ther  ain"t  much  room  to 
shift  it  in.  An'  beyont  us  ther  's  a  room  for  the  chil- 
len,  same  size  as  ourn,  an'  no  window,  nothin'  but  the 
door  into  us.  Ov  a  summer  night  the  chillen,  three 
on  'em,  is  all  of  a  sweat  afore  they're  asleep.  An'  no 
garden,  an'  no  chance  o'  decent  ways  nohow.  An'  if 
yer  ask  for  a  bit  o'  repairs  yer  get  sworn  at.  An' 
that's  all  that  most  on  us  can  get  out  of  Squire 
Boyce  ! " 

There  was  a  hasty  whisper  among  some  of  the  men 
round  him,  as  they  glanced  over  their  shoulders  at  the 
two  ladies  on  the  back  bench.  One  or  two  of  them 
half  rose,  and  tried  to  pull  him  down.  Wharton 
looked  at  Marcella ;  it  seemed  to  him  he  saw  a  sort 
of  passionate  satisfaction  on  her  pale  face,  and  in  the 
erect  carriage  of  her  head.  Then  she  stooped  to  the 
side  and  whispered  to  her  mother.  Mrs.  Boyce  shook 
her  head  and  sat  on,  immovable.  All  this  took  but 
a  second  or  two. 

'•  Ah,  well,"  said  Wharton,  "  we  won't  have  names  ; 
that'll  do  us  no  good.  It's  not  the  men  you've  got  to 
go  for  so  much  —  thougli  we  shall  go  for  them  too  be- 
fore long  when  we've  got  the  law  more  on  our  side. 


332  MARCELLA. 

It's  the  system.  It's  the  whole  way  of  dividing  the 
wealth  that  you  made,  you  and  your  children  —  by  your 
work,  your  hard,  slavish,  incessant  work  —  between  you 
and  those  who  do7iH  work,  who  live  on  your  labour  and 
grow  fat  on  your  poverty  !  What  we  want  is  a  fair 
division.  There  ought  to  be  wealth  enough  —  there  is 
wealth  enough  for  all  in  this  blessed  country.  The 
earth  gives  it ;  the  sun  gives  it :  labour  extracts  and 
piles  it  up.  AVhy  should  one  class  take  three-fourths 
of  it  and  leave  you  and  your  fellow-workers  in  the 
cities  the  miserable  pittance  which  is  all  you  have  to 
starve  and  breed  on  ?  Why  ?  —  ivhy  9  I  say.  Why  !  — 
because  you  are  a  set  of  dull,  jealous,  poor-spirited 
cowards,  unable  to  pull  together,  to  trust  each  other,  to 
give  up  so  much  as  a  pot  of  beer  a  week  for  the  sake 
of  your  children  and  your  liberties  and  your  class  — 
there,  thafs  why  it  is,  and  I  tell  it  you  straight 
out ! " 

He  drew  himself  up,  folded  his  arms  across  his 
chest,  and  looked  at  them  —  scorn  and  denunciation  in 
every  line  of  his  young  frame,  and  the  blaze  of  his  blue 
eye.  A  murmur  ran  through  the  room.  Some  of  the 
men  laughed  excitedly.     Darwin  sprang  up  again. 

"  You  keep  the  perlice  off  us,  an'  gie  us  the  cuttin' 
up  o'  their  bloomin'  parks  an'  we'll  do  it  fast  enough," 
he  cried. 

"Much  good  that'll  do  you,  just  at  present,"  said 
Wharton,  contemptuously.  "  Now,  you  just  listen  to 
me." 

And,  leaning  forward  over  the  desk  again,  his  finger 
pointed  at  the  room,  he  went  through  the  regular  So- 
cialist programme  as  it  affects  the  country  districts  — 


MARCELLA.  333 

the  transference  of  authority  within  the  villages  from 
the  few  to  the  many,  the  landlords  taxed  more  and  more 
heavily  during  the  transition  time  for  the  provision 
of  house  room,  water,  light,  education  and  amusement 
for  the  labourer ;  and  ultimately  land  and  capital  at 
the  free  disposal  of  the  State,  to  be  supplied  to  the 
worker  on  demand  at  the  most  moderate  terms,  while 
the  annexed  rent  and  interest  of  the  capitalist  class 
relieves  him  of  taxes,  and  the  disappearance  of  squire, 
State  parson,  and  plutocrat  leaves  him  master  in  his 
own  house,  the  slave  of  no  man,  the  equal  of  all. 
And,  as  a  first  step  to  this  new  Jerusalem  —  organisa- 
tion!—  self-sacrifice  enough  to  form  and  maintain  a 
union,  to  vote  for  Eadical  and  Socialist  candidates  in 
the  teeth  of  the  people  who  have  coals  and  blankets 
to  give  away. 

"  Then  I  suppose  you  think  you'd  be  turned  out  of 
your  cottages,  dismissed  your  work,  made  to  smart 
for  it  somehow.  Just  you  try  !  There  are  people  all 
over  the  country  ready  to  back  you,  if  you'd  only  back 
yourselves.  But  you  loonH.  You  won't  fight  —  that's 
the  worst  of  you;  that's  what  makes  all  of  us  sick 
when  we  come  down  to  talk  to  you.  You  won't  spare 
twopence  halfpenny  a  week  from  boozing — not  you! 
— to  subscribe  to  a  union,  and  take  the  first  little  step 
towards  filling  your  stomachs  and  holding  your  heads 
up  as  free  men.  What's  the  good  of  your  grumbling  ? 
I  suppose  you'll  go  on  like  that  —  grumbling  and 
starving  and  cringing  —  and  talking  big  of  the  things 
you  could  do  if  you  would :  —  and  all  the  time  not  one 
honest  effort  —  not  one!  —  to  better  yourselves,  to 
pull  the  yoke  off  your  necks  !     By  the  Lord !     I  tell 


334  MARCELLA. 

you  it's  a  damned  sort  of  business  talking  to  fellows 
like  you !  " 

Marcella  started  as  he  flung  the  words  out  with  a 
bitter,  nay,  a  brutal,  emphasis.  The  smooth-faced  min- 
ister coughed  loudly  with  a  sudden  movement,  half 
got  up  to  remonstrate,  and  then  thought  better  of  it. 
Mrs.  Boyce  for  the  first  time  showed  some  animation 
under  her  veil.  Her  eyes  followed  the  speaker  with 
a  quick  attention. 

As  for  the  men,  as  they  turned  clumsily  to  stare  at, 
to  laugh,  or  talk  to  each  other,  Marcella  could  hardly 
make  out  whether  they  were  angered  or  fascinated. 
Whichever  it  Avas,  Wharton  cared  for  none  of  them. 
His  blood  was  up ;  his  fatigue  thrown  off.  Standing 
there  in  front  of  them,  his  hands  in  his  pockets,  pale 
with  the  excitement  of  speaking,  his  curly  head  thrown 
out  against  the  whitened  wall  of  the  chapel,  he  lashed 
into  the  men  before  him,  talking  their  language,  their 
dialect  even;  laying  bare  their  weaknesses,  sensuali- 
ties, indecisions ;  painting  in  the  sombrest  colours  the 
grim  truths  of  their  melancholy  lives. 

Marcella  could  hardly  breathe.  It  seemed  to  her 
that,  among  these  cottagers,  she  had  never  lived  till 
now  —  under  the  blaze  of  these  eyes  —  within  the 
vibration  of  this  voice.  Never  had  she  so  realised  the 
power  of  this  singular  being.  He  was  scourging,  dis- 
secting, the  weather-beaten  men  before  him,  as,  with 
a  difference,  he  had  scourged,  dissected  her.  She 
found  herself  exulting  in  his  powers  of  tyranny,  in 
the  naked  thrust  of  his  words,  so  nervous,  so  pitiless. 
And  then  by  a  sudden  flash  she  thought  of  him  by 
Mrs.  Hurd's  fire,  the  dying  child  on  his  knee,  against 


31 AE  CELL  A.  335 

his  breast.  *'  Here,"  she  thought,  while  her  pulses 
leapt,  "is  the  leader  for  me  —  for  these.  Let  him  call, 
I  will  follow." 

It  was  as  though  he  followed  the  ranging  of  her 
thought,  for  suddenly,  when  she  and  his  hearers  least 
expected  it,  his  tone  changed,  his  storm  of  speech 
sank.  He  fell  into  a  strain  of  quiet  sympathy,  en- 
couragement, hope;  dwelt  with  a  good  deal  of  homely 
iteration  on  the  immediate  practical  steps  which  each 
man  before  him  could,  if  he  would,  take  towards  the 
common  end ;  spoke  of  the  help  and  support  lying 
ready  for  the  country  labourers  throughout  demo- 
cratic England  if  they  would  but  put  forward  their 
own  energies  and  quit  themselves  like  men;  pointed 
forward  to  a  time  of  plent}^,  education,  social  peace ; 
and  so  —  with  some  good-tempered  banter  of  his  oppo- 
nent, old  Dodgson,  and  some  precise  instructions  as  to 
how  and  where  they  were  to  record  their  votes  on  the 
day  of  election  —  came  to  an  end.  Two  or  three  other 
speeches  followed,  and  among  them  a  few  stumbling 
words  from  Hurd.  Marcella  approved  herself  and 
applauded  him,  as  she  recognised  a  sentence  or  two 
taken  bodily  from  the  Labour  Clarion  of  the  preced- 
ing week.  Then  a  resolution  pledging  the  meeting  to 
support  the  Liberal  candidate  was  passed  unanimously 
amid  evident  excitement.  It  was  the  first  time  that 
such  a  thing  had  ever  happened  in  Mellor. 

Mrs.  Boyce  treated  her  visitor  on  their  way  home 
with  a  new  respect,  mixed,  however,  as  usual,  with  her 
prevailing  irony.  For  one  who  knew  her,  her  manner 
implied,  not  that  she  liked  him  any  more,  but  that  a 


336  MARC  EL  LA. 

man  so  well  trained  to  his  own  profession  must  always 
hold  his  own. 

As  for  Marcella,  she  said  little  or  nothing.  But 
Wharton,  in  the  dark  of  the  carriage,  had  a  strange 
sense  that  her  eye  was  often  on  him,  that  her  mood 
marched  with  his,  and  that  if  he  could  have  spoken 
her  response  would  have  been  electric. 

When  he  had  helped  her  out  of  the  carriage,  and 
they  stood  in  the  vestibule  —  Mrs.  Boyce  having  walked 
on  into  the  hall  —  he  said  to  her,  his  voice  hoarse  with 
fatigue : 

"  Did  I  do  your  bidding,  did  I  rouse  them  ?  " 

Marcella  was  seized  with  sudden  shyness. 

"  You  rated  them  enough." 

"  Well,  did  you  disapprove  ?  " 

''  Oh,  no  !  it  seems  to  be  your  way.'' 

"  My  proof  of  friendship  ?  Well,  can  there  be  a 
greater  ?     Will  you  show  me  some  to-morrow  ?  " 

"  How  can  I  ?  " 

"Will  you  criticise?  —  tell  me  where  you  thought  I 
was  a  fool  to-night,  or  a  hypocrite  ?  Your  mother  would." 

"  I  dare  say  !  "  said  Marcella,  her  breath  quickening; 
"  but  don't  expect  it  from  me." 

"  Why  ?  " 

"Because  —  because  I  don't  pretend.  I  don't  know 
whether  you  roused  them,  but  you  roused  me." 

She  swept  on  before  him  into  the  dark  hall,  with- 
out giving  him  a  moment  for  reply,  took  her  candle, 
and  disappeared. 

Wharton  found  his  own  staircase,  and  went  up  to 
bed.  The  light  he  carried  showed  his  smiling  eyes 
bent  on  the  ground,  his  mouth  still  moving  as  though 
with  some  pleasant  desire  of  speech. 


CHAPTER   VII. 

Whartox  was  sitting  alone  in  the  big  Mellor 
drawing-room,  after  dinner.  He  had  drawn  one  of 
the  few  easy  chairs  the  room  possessed  to  the  fire,  and 
with  his  feet  on  the  fender,  and  one  of  Mr.  Boyce's 
French  novels  on  his  knee,  he  was  intensely  enjoying 
a  moment  of  physical  ease.  The  work  of  these  weeks 
of  canvassing  and  speaking  had  been  arduous,  and  he 
was  naturally  indolent.  Now,  beside  this  fire  and  at 
a  distance,  it  amazed  him  that  any  motive  whatever, 
public  or  private,  should  ever  have  been  strong  enough 
to  take  him  out  through  the  mire  on  these  winter 
nights  to  spout  himself  hoarse  to  a  parcel  of  rustics. 
"  What  did  I  do  it  for?"  he  asked  himself;  "what 
am  I  going  to  do  it  for  again  to-morrow  ?  " 

Ten  o'clock.  Mr.  Boyce  was  gone  to  bed.  No 
more  entertainuig  of  him  to  be  done ;  one  might  be 
thankful  for  that  mercy.  Miss  Boyce  and  her  mother 
would,  he  supposed,  be  down  directl}^  They  had 
gone  up  to  dress  at  nine.  It  was  the  night  of  the 
Maxwell  Court  ball,  and  the  carriage  had  been  ordered 
for  half-past  ten.  In  a  few  minutes  he  would  see 
Miss  Boyce  in  her  new  dress,  wearing  Baeburn's  pearls. 
He  was  extraordinarily  observant,  and  a  number  of 
little  incidents  and  domestic  arrangements  bearing  on 
the  feminine  side  of  Marcel  la's  life  had  been  apparent 

VOL.  I.  — 22  337 


338  MARCELLA. 

to  him  from  the  beginning.  He  knew,  for  instance, 
that  the  trousseau  was  being  made  at  home,  and  that 
during  the  last  few  weeks  the  lady  for  whom  it  was 
destined  had  shown  an  indifference  to  the  progress  of 
it  which  seemed  to  excite  a  dumb  annoyance  in  her 
mother.     Curious  woman,  Mrs.  Boyce  ! 

He  found  himself  listening  to  every  opening  door, 
and  already,  as  it  were,  gazing  at  Marcella  in  her 
white  array.  He  was  not  asked  to  this  ball.  As  he 
had  early  explained .  to  Miss  Boyce,  he  and  Miss 
Raeburn  had  been  "  cuts  "  for  years,  for  what  reason 
he  had  of  course  left  Marcella  to  guess.  As  if  Mar- 
cella found  an}^  difficulty  in  guessing  —  as  if  the  pre- 
posterous bigotries  and  intolerances  of  the  Ladies' 
League  were  not  enough  to  account  for  any  similar 
behaviour  on  the  part  of  any  similar  high-bred  spin- 
ster !  As  for  this  occasion,  she  was  far  too  proud 
both  on  her  own  behalf  and  Wharton's  to  say  any- 
thing either  to  Lord  Maxwell  or  his  sister  on  the 
subject  of  an  invitation  for  her  father's  guest. 

It  so  happened,  however,  that  Wharton  was  aware 
of  certain  other  reasons  for  his  social  exclusion  from 
Maxwell  Court.  There  was  no  necessity,  of  course, 
for  enlightening  Miss  Boyce  on  the  point.  But  as  he 
sat  waiting  for  her,  Wharton's  mind  went  back  to  the 
past  connected  with  those  reasons.  In  that  past 
Raeburn  had  had  the  whip-hand  of  him ;  Raeburn 
had  been  the  moral  superior  dictating  indignant  terms 
to  a  young  fellow  detected  in  flagrant  misconduct. 
Wharton  did  not  know  that  he  bore  him  any  particu- 
lar grudge.  But  he  had  never  liked  Aldous,  as  a  boy, 
that  he  could  remember ;  naturally  he  had  liked  him 


MARC  ELL  A.  339 

less  since  that  old  affair.  The  remembrance  of  it  had 
made  his  position  at  jMellor  particularly  sweet  to  him 
from  the  beginning ;  he  was  not  sure  that  it  had  not 
determined  his  original  acceptance  of  the  offer  made 
to  him  by  the  Liberal  Committee  to  contest  old 
Dodgson's  seat.  And  during  the  past  few  weeks  the 
exhilaration  and  interest  of  the  general  position  — 
considering  all  things  —  had  been  very  great.  ]S"ot 
only  was  he  on  the  point  of  ousting  the  Maxwell  can- 
didate from  a  seat  which  he  had  held  securely  for 
years  —  Wharton  was  i^erf ectly  well  aware  by  now 
that  he  was  trespassing  on  Aldous  Kaeburn's  preserves 
in  ways  far  more  important,  and  infinitely  more  irri- 
tating !  He  and  Raeburn  had  not  met  often  at  Mellor 
during  these  weeks  of  fight.  Each  had  been  too 
busy.  But  whenever  they  had  come  across  each  other 
Wharton  had  clearly  perceived  that  his  presence  in 
the  house,  his  growing  intimac}'  with  Marcella  Boyce, 
the  free-masonry  of  opinion  between  them,  the  interest 
she  took  in  his  contest,  the  village  friendships  they 
had  in  common,  were  all  intensely  galling  to  Aldous 
Raeburn. 

The  course  of  events,  indeed,  had  lately  produced 
in  Wharton  a  certain  excitement  —  recklessness  even. 
He  had  come  down  into  these  parts  to  court  "  the  joy 
of  eventful  living  "  —  politically  and  personally.  But 
the  situation  had  proved  to  be  actually  far  more  poign- 
ant and  personal  than  he  had  expected.  This  proud, 
crude,  handsome  girl  —  to  her  certainly  it  was  largely 
due  that  the  days  had  flown  as  they  had.  He  was 
perfectly,  one  might  almost  say  gleefully,  aware  that 
at  the  present  moment  it  was  he  and  not  Aldous  Rae- 


340  MAR  CELL  A. 

burn  who  was  intellectually  her  master.  His  mind 
flew  back  at  first  with  amusement,  then  with  a  thrill 
of  something  else,  over  their  talks  and  quarrels.  He 
smiled  gaily  as  he  recalled  her  fits  of  anger  with  him, 
her  remonstrances,  appeals  —  and  then  her  awkward 
inevitable  submissions  when  he  had  crushed  her  with 
sarcasm  or  with  facts.  Ah  !  she  would  go  to  this  ball 
to-night;  Aldous  Raeburn  would  parade  her  as  his 
possession;  but  she  would  go  with  thoughts,  ambi- 
tions, ideals,  which,  as  they  developed,  would  make 
her  more  and  more  difficult  for  a  Raeburn  to  deal 
with.  And  in  those  thoughts  and  ambitions  the  man 
who  had  been  her  tormentor,  teacher,  and  companion 
during  six  rushing  weeks  knew  well  that  he  already 
counted  for  much.  He  had  cherished  iu  her  all  those 
^'divine  discontents"  which  were  already  there  when 
he  first  knew  her;  taught  her  to  formulate  them, 
given  her  better  reasons  for  them  ;  so  that  by  now 
she  was  a  person  with  a  far  more  defined  and  stormy 
will  than  she  had  been  to  begin  with.  Wharton  did 
not  particularly  know  why  he  should  exult;  but  he 
did  exult.  At  any  rate,  he  was  prodigiously  tickled  — 
entertained  —  by  the  whole  position. 

A  step,  a  rustle  outside  —  he  hastily  shut  his  book 
and  listened. 

The  door  opened,  and  Marcella  came  in  —  a  white 
vision  against  the  heavy  blue  of  the  walls.  With  her 
came,  too,  a  sudden  strong  scent  of  flowers,  for  she 
carried  a  marvellous  bunch  of  hot-house  roses,  Aldous's 
gift,  which  had  just  arrived  by  special  messenger. 

Wharton  sprang  up  and  placed  a  chair  for  her. 

"I  had  begun  to  believe  the  ball  only  existed  in  my 


M ABC ELL A.  341 

own  imagination  !  "  he  said  gaily.  "  Surely  you  are 
very  late." 

Then  he  saw  that  she  looked  disturbed. 

"  It  was  papa,''  she  said,  coming  to  the  fire,  and 
looking  down  into  it.  ''  It  lias  been  another  attack  of 
pain  —  not  serious,  mamma  says  ;  she  is  coming  down 
directly.  But  I  wonder  why  they  come,  and  why  he 
thinks  himself  so  ill  —  do  you  know  ?  "  she  added 
abruptly,  turning  to  her  companion. 

Wharton  hesitated,  taken  by  surprise.  During  the 
past  weeks,  wdiat  with  Mr.  Boyce's  confidence  and  his 
own  acuteness,  he  had  arrived  at  a  very  shrewd  notion 
of  what  was  wrong  with  his  host.  But  he  was  not 
going  to  enlighten  tlie  daughter. 

^'I  should  say  your  father  wants  a  great  deal  of 
care  —  and  is  nervous  about  himself,"  he  said  quietly. 
"  But  he  will  get  the  care  —  and  your  mother  knows 
the  whole  state  of  the  case." 

"Yes,  she  knows,"  said  Marcella.     "I  wish  I  did." 

And  a  sudden  painful  expression  —  of  moral  worry, 
remorse  —  passed  across  the  girl's  face.  Wharton 
knew  that  she  had  often  been  impatient  of  late  with 
her  father,  and  incredulous  of  his  complaints.  He 
thought  he  understood. 

"  One  can  often  be  of  more  use  to  a  sick  person  if 
one  is  not  too  well  acquainted  with  what  ails  them," 
he  said.  "  Hope  and  cheerfulness  are  everything  in  a 
case  like  your  father's.     He  wall  do  well." 

"  If  he  does  he  won't  owe  any  of  it  —  " 

She  stopped  as  impulsively  as  she  had  begun.  "  To 
me,"  she  meant  to  have  said;  then  had  retreated 
hastily,  before   lier  own  sense  of  something  undul}^ 


342  MARCELLA. 

intimate  and  personal.  Wharton  stood  quietly  beside 
her,  saying  nothing,  but  receiving  and  soothing  her 
self-reproach  just  as  surely  as  though  she  had  put  it 
into  words. 

"  You  are  crushing  your  flowers,  I  think,"  he  said 
suddenly. 

And  indeed  her  roses  were  dangling  against  her 
dress,  as  if  she  had  forgotten  all  about  them. 

She  raised  them  carelessly,  but  he  bent  to  smell 
them,  and  she  held  them  out. 

"  Summer  I "  he  said,  plunging  his  face  into  them 
with  a  long  breath  of  sensuous  enjoyment.  "  How  the 
year  sweeps  round  in  an  instant  I  And  all  the  effect 
of  a  little  heat  and  a  little  money.  Will  you  allow 
me  a  philosopher's  remark  ?  " 

He  drew  back  from  her.  His  quick  inquisitive  but 
still  respectful  eye  took  in  every  delightful  detail. 

''If  I  don't  give  you  leave,  my  experience  is  that 
you  will  take  it !  "  she  said,  half  laughing,  half  resent- 
ful, as  though  she  had  old  aggressions  in  mind. 

"  You  admit  tlie  strength  of  the  temptation  ?  It  is 
very  simple,  no  one  could  help  making  it.  To  be 
spectator  of  the  height  of  anything  —  the  best,  the 
climax  —  makes  any  mortal's  pulses  run.  Beauty, 
success,  happiness,  for  instance  ?  " 

He  paused  smiling.  She  leant  a  thin  hand  on  the 
mantelpiece  and  looked  away ;  Aldous's  pearls  slipped 
backwards  along  her  white  arm. 

"Do  you  suppose  to-night  will  be  the  height  of 
happiness  ? "  she  said  at  last  with  a  little  scorn. 
"  These  functions  don't  present  themselves  to  me  in 
such  a  light." 


MARCELLA.  343 

Wharton  could  have  laughed  out  —  her  pedantry  was 
so  young  and  unconscious.    But  he  restrained  himself. 

"  I  shall  be  with  the  majority  to-night,"  he  said 
demurely,     "  I  may  as  well  warn  you." 

Her  colour  rose.  No  other  man  had  ever  dared  to 
speak  to  her  with  this  assurance,  this  cool  scrutinis- 
ing air.  She  told  herself  to  be  indignant ;  the  next 
moment  she  ivas  indignant,  but  with  herself  for 
remembering  conventionalities. 

"Tell  me  one  thing,"  said  Wharton,  changing  his 
toue  wholly.  ^'  I  know  you  went  down  hurriedly  to 
the  village  before  dinner.     Was  anything  wrong  ?  " 

"Old  Patton  is  very  ill,"  she  said,  sighing.  "I 
went  to  ask  after  him;  he  may  die  any  moment. 
And  the  Hurds'  boy  too." 

He  leant  against  the  mantelpiece,  talking  to  her 
about  both  cases  with  a  quick  incisive  common-sense 
—  not  unkind,  but  without  a  touch  of  unnecessary 
sentiment,  still  less  of  the  superior  person  —  which 
represented  one  of  the  moods  she  liked  best  in  him. 
In  speaking  of  the  poor  he  always  took  the  tone  of 
comradeship,  of  a  plain  equality,  and  the  tone  was,  in 
fact,  genuine. 

"  Do  you  know,"  he  said  presently,  "  I  did  not  tell 
you  before,  but  I  am  certain  that  Kurd's  wife  is  afraid 
of  you,  that  she  has  a  secret  from  you  ?  " 

"  From  me  !  how  could  she  ?  I  know  every  detail 
of  their  affairs." 

"  No  matter.  I  listened  to  what  she  said  that  day 
in  the  cottage  when  I  had  the  boy  on  my  knee.  I 
noticed  her  face,  and  I  am  quite  certain.  She  has  a 
secret,  and  above  all  a  secret  from  vou." 


344  MARCELLA. 

Marcella  looked  disturbed  for  a  moment,  then  she 
laughed. 

"  Oh,  no  ! "  she  said,  with  a  little  superior  air.  "  I 
assure  you  I  know  her  better  than  you." 

Wharton  said  no  more. 

"  Marcella !  "  called  a  distant  voice  from  the  hall. 

The  girl  gathered  up  her  white  skirts  and  her 
flowers  in  haste. 

"  Good-night ! " 

"  Good-night !  I  shall  hear  you  come  home  and 
wonder  how  you  have  sped.  One  word,  if  I  may ! 
Take  your  rdle  and  play  it.  There  is  nothing  subjects 
dislike  so  much  as  to  see  royalty  decline  its  jmrt." 

She  laughed,  blushed,  a  little  proudly  and  uncer- 
tainly, and  went  without  reply.  As  she  shut  the  door 
behind  her,  a  sudden  flatness  fell  upon  her.  She 
walked  through  the  dark  Stone  Parlour  outside,  seeing 
still  the  firmly-knit  lightly-made  figure  —  boyish,  mid- 
dle-sized, yet  never  insignificant  —  the  tumbled  waves 
of  fair  hair,  the  eyes  so  keenly  blue,  the  face  with  its 
sharp  mocking  lines,  its  powers  of  sudden  charm. 
Then  self-reproach  leapt,  and  possessed  her.  She 
quickened  her  pace,  hurrying  into  the  hall,  as  though 
from  something  she  was  ashamed  or  afraid  of. 

In  the  hall  a  new  sensation  awaited  her.  Her 
mother,  fully  dressed,  stood  waiting  by  the  old  billiard- 
table  for  her  maid,  who  had  gone  to  fetch  her  a  cloak. 

Marcella  stopped  an  instant  in  surprise  and  delight, 
then  ran  up  to  her.  "Mamma,  how  lovely  you  look! 
I  haven't  seen  you  like  that,  not  since  I  was  a  child. 
I  remember  you  then  once,  in  a  low  dress,  a  white 
dress,  with  flowers,  coming  into  the  nursery.     But  that 


MARC  ELL  A.  345 

black  becomes  you  so  well,  and  Deacon  has  done  your 
hair  beautifully ! " 

She  took  her  mother's  hand  and  kissed  her  cheek, 
touched  by  an  emotion  which  had  many  roots.  There 
was  infinite  relief  in  this  tender  natural  outlet;  she 
seemed  to  recover  possession  of  herself. 

Mrs.  Boyce  bore  the  kiss  quietly.  Her  face  was  a 
little  pinched  and  white.  But  the  unusual  display 
Deacon  had  been  allowed  to  make  of  her  pale  golden 
hair,  still  long  and  abundant;  the  unveiling  of  the 
shapely  shoulders  and  neck,  little  less  beautiful  than 
her  daughter's ;  the  elegant  lines  of  the  velvet  dress, 
all  these  things  had  very  nobly  transformed  her.  ^lar- 
cella  could  not  restrain  her  admiration  and  delight. 
Mrs.  Boyce  winced,  and,  looking  upward  to  the  gallery, 
which  ran  round  the  hall,  called  Deacon  impatiently. 

"  Only,  mamma,"  said  Marcella,  discontentedly,  "  I 
don't  like  that  little  chain  round  your  neck.  It  is  not 
equal  to  the  rest,  not  worthy  of  it." 

"I  have  nothing  else,  my  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Boyce, 
drily.     "  Now,  Deacon,  don't  be  all  night !  " 

Nothing  else  ?  Yet,  if  she  shut  her  eyes,  Marcella 
could  perfectly  recall  the  diamonds  on  the  neck  and 
arms  of  that  white  figure  of  her  childhood  —  could  see 
herself  as  a  baby  playing  Avith  the  treasures  of  her 
mother's  jewel-box. 

Nowadaj's,  Mrs.  Boyce  was  very  secretive  and  re- 
served about  her  personal  possessions.  Marcella  never 
went  into  her  room  unless  she  was  asked,  and  would 
never  have  thought  of  treating  it  or  its  contents  with 
any  freedom. 

The  mean  chain  which  Avent  so  ill  with  the  costly 


346  MARCELLA. 

hoarded  dress  —  it  recalled  to  Marcella  all  the  inex- 
orable silent  miseries  of  her  mother's  past  life,  and  all 
the  sordid  disadvantages  and  troubles  of  her  own 
youth.  She  followed  Mrs.  Boyce  out  to  the  carriage 
in  silence  —  once  more  in  a  tumult  of  sore  pride  and 
doubtful  feeling. 

Four  weeks  to  her  wedding-day  !  The  words  dinned 
in  her  ears  as  they  drove  along.  Yet  they  sounded 
strange  to  her,  incredible  almost.  How  much  did  she 
know  of  Aldous,  of  her  life  that  was  to  be  —  above 
all,  how  much  of  herself?  She  was  not  happy  —  had 
not  been  happy  or  at  ease  for  many  days.  Yet  in  her 
restlessness  she  could  think  nothing  out.  Moreover, 
the  chain  that  galled  and  curbed  her  was  a  chain  of 
character.  In  spite  of  her  modernuess,  and  the  com- 
plexity of  many  of  her  motives,  there  was  certain  in- 
herited simplicities  of  nature  at  the  bottom  of  her. 
In  her  wild  demonic  childhood  you  could  always  trust 
Marcie  Boyce,  if  she  had  given  you  her  word  —  her 
schoolfellows  knew  that.  If  her  passions  were  half- 
civilised  and  southern,  her  way  of  understanding  the 
point  of  honour  was  curiously  English,  sober,  tenacious. 
So  now.  Her  sense  of  bond  to  Aldous  had  never  been 
in  the  least  touched  by  any  of  her  dissatisfactions  and 
revolts.  Yet  it  rushed  upon  her  to-night  with  amaze- 
ment, and  that  in  four  weeks  she  was  going  to  marry 
him  !  Why  ?  how  ?  —  what  would  it  really  mean  for 
him  and  for  lier  ?  It  was  as  though  in  mid-stream  she 
were  trying  to  pit  herself  for  an  instant  against  the 
current  which  had  so  far  carried  them  all  on,  to  see 
what  it  might  be  like  to  retrace  a  step,  and  could  only 


MARC  ELL  A.  347 

realise   with   dismay   the    force  and  rapidity  of   the 
water. 

Yet  all  the  time  another  side  of  her  was  well  aware 
that  she  was  at  that  moment  the  envy  of  half  a  county, 
that  in  another  ten  minutes  hundreds  of  eager  and 
critical  eyes  would  be  upon  her ;  and  her  pride  was 
rising  to  her  part.  The  little  incident  of  the  chain 
had  somehow  for  the  moment  made  the  ball  and  her 
place  in  it  more  attractive  to  her. 

They  had  no  sooner  stepped  from  their  carriage  than 
Aldous,  who  was  waiting  in  the  outer  hall,  joyously 
discovered  them.  Till  tlien  he  had  been  walking  aim- 
lessly amid  the  crowd  of  his  own  guests,  wondering 
when  she  would  come,  how  she  would  like  it.  This 
splendid  function  had  been  his  grandfather's  idea ;  it 
would  never  have  entered  his  own  head  for  a  moment. 
Yet  he  understood  his  grandfather's  wish  to  present 
his  heir's  promised  bride  in  this  public  ceremonious 
way  to  the  society  of  which  she  would  some  day  be 
the  natural  leader.  He  understood,  too,  that  there 
was  more  in  the  wish  than  met  the  ear;  that  the 
occasion  meant  to  Lord  ^Maxwell,  whether  Dick  Boyce 
were  there  or  no,  the  final  condoning  of  things  past 
and  done  with,  a  final  throwing  of  the  Maxwell  shield 
over  the  Boyce  weakness,  and  full  adoption  of  ^lar- 
cella  into  her  new  family. 

All  this  he  understood  and  was  grateful  for.  But 
how  would  she  respond  ?  How  would  she  like  it  — 
this  parade  that  was  to  be  made  of  her — these  peo- 
ple that  must  be  introduced  to  her  ?  He  was  full  of 
anxieties. 


348  MAECELLA. 

Yet  in  many  ways  his  mind  had  been  easier  of  late. 
During  the  last  week  she  had  been  very  gentle  and 
good  to  him  —  even  Miss  Raeburn  had  been  pleased 
with  her.  There  had  been  no  quoting  of  Wharton 
when  they  met ;  and  he  had  done  his  philosopher's 
best  to  forget  him.  He  trusted  her  proudly,  intensely  ; 
and  in  four  weeks  she  would  be  his  wife. 

"  Can  you  bear  it  ?  "  he  said  to  her  in  a  laughing 
whisper  as  she  and  her  mother  emerged  from  the 
cloak-room. 

"  Tell  me  what  do  do,"  she  said,  flushing.  ^'  I  will 
do  my  best.  What  a  crowd  !  Must  we  stay  very 
long  ?  " 

''Ah,  my  dear  Mrs.  Boyce,"  cried  Lord  Maxwell, 
meeting  them  on  the  steps  of  the  inner  quadrangular 
corridor  —  "  Welcome  indeed  !  Let  me  take  you  in. 
Marcella !  with  Aldous's  permission  !  "  he  stooped  his 
white  head  gallantly  and  kissed  her  on  the  cheek  — 
"  Remember  I  am  an  old  man ;  if  I  choose  to  pay  you 
compliments,  you  will  have  to  put  up  with  them ! " 

Then  he  offered  Mrs.  Boyce  his  arm,  a  stately  figure 
in  his  ribbon  and  cross  of  the  Bath.  A  delicate  red 
had  risen  to  that  lady's  thin  cheek  in  spite  of  her 
self-possession.  "  Poor  thing,"  said  Lord  Maxwell  to 
himself  as  he  led  her  along  —  "poor  thing!  —  how 
distinguished  and  charming  still !  One  sees  to-night 
what  she  was  like  as  a  girl." 

Aldous  and  Marcella  followed.  They  had  to  pass 
along  the  great  corridor  which  ran  round  the  quadran- 
gle of  the  house.  The  antique  marbles  which  lined 
it  were  to-night  masked  in  flowers,  and  seats  covered 
in  red  had  been  fitted  in  wherever  it  was  possible,  and 


MARCELLA.  349 

were  now  crowded  with  dancers  '•  sitting  out."  From 
the  ball-room  ahead  came  waves  of  waltz-music ;  the 
ancient  house  was  alive  with  colour  and  perfume,  with 
the  sounds  of  laughter  and  talk,  lightly  fretting,  and 
breaking  the  swaying  rhythms  of  the  band.  Beyond 
the  windows  of  the  corridor,  which  had  been  left  un- 
curtained because  of  the  beauty  of  the  night,  the 
stiff  Tudor  garden  with  its  fountains,  which  filled  up 
the  quadrangle,  was  gaily  illuminated  under  a  bright 
moon ;  and  amid  all  the  varied  colour  of  lamps, 
drapery,  dresses,  faces,  the  antique  heads  ranged 
along  the  walls  of  the  corridor  —  here  Marcus  Aure- 
lius,  there  Trajan,  there  Seneca  —  and  the  marble 
sarcophagi  which  broke  the  line  at  intervals,  stood  in 
cold,  whitish  relief. 

Marcella  passed  along  on  Aldous's  arm,  conscious 
that  people  were  streaming  into  the  corridor  from  all 
the  rooms  opening  upon  it,  and  that  every  eye  was 
fixed  upon  her  and  her  mother.  "  Look,  there  she  is," 
she  heard  in  an  excited  girl's  voice  as  they  passed 
Lord  Maxwell's  library,  now  abandoned  to  the  crowd 
like  all  the  rest.  "Come,  quick  !  There  —  I  told  you 
she  was  lovely  !  " 

Every  now  and  then  some  old  friend,  man  or 
woman,  rose  smiling  from  the  seats  along  the  side,  and 
Aldous  introduced  his  bride. 

"  On  her  dignity  ! "  said  an  old  hunting  squire  to 
his  daughter  when  they  had  passed.  '^  Shy,  no  doubt 
—  very  natural !  But  nowadays  girls,  when  they're 
shy,  don't  giggle  and  blush  as  they  used  to  in  my 
young  days  ;  they  look  as  if  you  meant  to  insult 
them,  and  they  weren't  going  to  allow  it !     Oh,  very 


350  MARCEL  LA. 

handsome  —  very  handsome  —  of  course.  But  you 
can  see  she's  advanced  —  peculiar  —  or  what  d'ye  call 
it  ?  —  woman's  rights,  I  suppose,  and  all  that  kind  of 
thing  ?     Like  to  see  you  go  in  for  it,  Nettie,  eh  !  " 

"  She's  aivfuUy  handsome,"  sighed  his  pink-cheeked, 
insignificant  little  daughter,  still  craning  her  neck  to 
look  — "  very  simply  dressed  too,  except  for  those 
lovely  pearls.  She  does  her  hair  very  oddly,  so  low 
down  —  in  those  plaits.  Nobody  does  it  like  that 
nowadays." 

"  That's  because  nobody  has  such  a  head,"  said  her 
brother,  a  young  Hussar  lieutenant,  beside  her,  in  the 
tone  of  connoisseurship.  '*  By  George,  she's  ripping  — 
she's  the  best-looking  girl  I've  seen  for  a  good  long 
time.  But  she's  a  Tartar,  I'll  swear  —  looks  it,  any- 
way." 

"Every  one  says  she  has  the  most  extraordinary 
opinions,"  said  the  girl,  eagerly.  "  She'll  manage  him, 
don't  you  think  ?  I'm  sure  he's  very  meek  and 
mild." 

"  Don't  know  that,"  said  the  young  man,  twisting 
his  moustache  with  the  air  of  exhaustive  information. 
"  Raeburn's  a  very  good  fellow  —  excellent  fellow  — 
see  him  shooting,  you  know  —  that  kind  of  thing.  I 
expect  he's  got  a  will  when  he  wants  it.  The  mother's 
handsome,  too,  and  looks  a  lady.  The  father's  kept 
out  of  the  way,  I  see.  Bather  a  blessing  for  the 
Raeburns.  Can't  be  pleasant,  you  know,  to  get  a 
man  like  that  in  the  family.  Look  after  your  spoons 
—  that  kind  of  thing." 

Meanwhile  Marcella  was  standing  beside  Miss 
Baeburn,  at  the  head  of  the  long  ball-room,  and  doing 


MARCELLA.  351 

her  best  to  behave  prettily.  One  after  another  she 
bowed  to,  or  shook  hands  with,  half  the  magnates  of 
the  county  —  the  men  in  pink,  the  women  in  the  new 
London  dresses,  for  which  this  brilliant  and  long- 
expected  ball  had  given  so  welcome  an  excuse.  They 
knew  little  or  nothing  of  her,  except  that  she  was 
clearly  good-looking,  that  she  was  that  fellow  Dick 
Boyce's  daughter  and  was  reported  to  be  "  odd." 
Some,  mostly  men,  who  said  their  conventional  few 
words  to  her,  felt  an  amused  admiration  for  the  skill 
and  rapidity  with  which  she  had  captured  the  por^?* 
of  the  county ;  some,  mostly  women,  were  already 
jealous  of  her.  A  few  of  the  older  people  here  and 
there,  both  men  and  women  —  but  after  all  they  shook 
hands  like  the  rest! — knew  perfectly  well  that  the 
girl  must  be  going  through  an  ordeal,  were  touched  by 
the  signs  of  thought  and  storm  in  the  face,  and  looked 
back  at  her  with  kind  eyes. 

But  of  these  last  Marcella  realised  nothing.  What 
she  was  saying  to  herself  was  that,  if  they  knew  little 
of  her,  she  knew  a  great  deal  of  many  of  them.  In 
their  talks  over  the  Stone  Parlour  fire  she  and  Whar- 
ton had  gone  through  most  of  the  properties,  large 
and  small,  of  his  division,  and  indeed  of  the  divisions 
round,  by  the  help  of  the  knowledge  he  had  gained  in 
his  canvass,  together  with  a  blue-book  —  one  of  the 
numberless  !  —  recently  issued,  on  the  state  of  the 
midland  labourer.  He  had  abounded  in  anecdote, 
sarcasm,  reflection,  based  partly  on  his  own  experi- 
ences, partly  on  his  endless  talks  with  the  working- 
folk,  now  in  the  public-house,  now  at  their  own 
chimney-corner.     Marcella,  indeed,  had  a  large  unsus- 


352  MARCELLA. 

pected  acquaintance  with  the  county  before  she  met 
it  in  the  flesh.  She  knew  that  a  great  many  of  these 
men  who  came  and  spoke  to  her  were  doing  their  best 
according  to  their  lights,  that  improvements  were 
going  on,  that  times  were  mending.  But  there  were 
abuses  enough  still,  and  the  abuses  were  far  more 
vividly  present  to  her  than  the  improvements.  In 
general,  the  people  who  thronged  these  splendid 
rooms  were  to  her  merely  the  incompetent  members 
of  a  useless  class.  The  nation  would  do  away  with 
them  in  time !  Meanwhile  it  might  at  least  be  asked 
of  them  that  they  should  practise  their  profession  of 
landowning,  such  as  it  was,  with  greater  conscience 
and  intelligence  —  that  they  should  not  shirk  its 
opportunities  or  idle  them  away.  And  she  could 
point  out  those  who  did  both  —  scandalously,  intol- 
erably. Once  or  twice  she  thought  passionately  of 
Minta  Hurd,  washing  and  mending  all  day,  in  her 
damp  cottage ;  or  of  the  Pattons  in  "  the  parish 
house,"  thankful  after  sixty  years  of  toil  for  a  hovel 
where  the  rain  came  through  the  thatch,  and  where 
the  smoke  choked  you,  unless,  with  the  thermometer 
below  freezing-point,  you  opened  the  door  to  the  blast. 
Why  should  these  people  have  all  the  gay  clothes,  the 
flowers,  the  jewels,  the  delicate  food —  all  the  delight 
and  allthe  leisure  ?  And  those,  nothing  !  Her  soul 
rose  against  what  she  saw  as  she  stood  there,  going 
through  her  part.  Wharton's  very  words,  every  in- 
flection of  his  voice  was  in  her  ears,  playing  chorus 
to  the  scene. 

But   when    these    first   introductions,    these   little 
empty  talks  of  three  or  four  phrases  apiece,  and  all 


31  AR  CELL  A.  353 

of  them  alike,  were  nearly  done  with,  Marcella  looked 
eagerl}^  round  for  Mary  Harden.  There  she  was,  sit- 
ting quietly  against  the  wall  in  a  remote  corner,  her 
plain  face  all  smiles,  her  little  feet  dancing  under  the 
white  muslin  frock  which  she  had  fashioned  for  her- 
self with  so  much  pain  under  Marcella's  directions. 
Miss  Raeburn  was  called  away  to  find  an  arm-chair 
for  some  dowager  of  importance;  Marcella  took  ad- 
vantage of  the  break  and  of  the  end-  of  a  dance  to 
hurry  down  the  room  to  ]SIary.  Aldous,  who  was 
talking  to  old  Sir  Charles  Leven,  Frank's  father,  a 
few  steps  off,  nodded  and  smiled  to  her  as  he  saw  her 
move. 

"  Have  you  been  dancing,  Mary  ?  "  she  said  severely. 

"  I  wouldn't  for  worlds !  1  never  was  so  much 
amused  in  my  life.  Look  at  those  girls  —  those 
sisters  —  in  the  huge  velvet  sleeves,  like  coloured 
balloons  !  —  and  that  old  lady  in  the  pink  tulle  and 
diamonds.  —  I  do  so  want  to  get  her  her  cloak  !  And 
those  Lancers  !  —  I  never  could  have  imagined  people 
danced  like  that.  They  didn't  dance  them  —  they 
romped  them  !     It  wasn't  beautiful  —  was  it  ?  " 

"  Why  do  you  expect  an  English  crowd  to  do  any- 
thing beautiful  ?  If  we  could  do  it,  we  should  be  too 
ashamed." 

"But  it  is  beautiful,  all  the  same,  you  scornful  per- 
son!" cried  Mary,  dragging  her  friend  down  beside 
her.  "  How  pretty  the  girls  are !  And  as  for  the 
diamonds,  I  never  saw  anything  so  wonderful.  I  wish 
I  could  have  made  Charles  come  ! " 

"  Wouldn't  he  ?  " 

"  Xo  "  —  she  looked  a  little  troubled  —  "  he  couldn't 

VOL.  1,-23 


854  M ABC  ELLA. 

think  it  would  be  quite  right.  But  I  don't  know  — a 
sight  like  this  takes  me  off  my  feet,  shakes  me  up, 
and  does  me  a  world  of  good !  " 

"  You  dear,  simple  thing  !  "  said  Marcella,  slipping 
her  hand  into  Mary's  as  it  lay  on  the  bench. 

"Oh,  you  needn't  l)e  so  superior !"  cried  Mary, — 
"  not  for  another  year  at  least.  1  don't  believe  you 
are  much  more  used  to  it  than  I  am  !  " 

"If  you  mean,"  said  Marcelhi,  "  that  I  was  never  at 
anything  so  big  and  splendid  as  this  before,  you  are 
quite  right." 

And  she  looked  round  the  room  with  that  curious, 
cold  air  of  personal  detachment  from  all  she  saw,  which 
had  often  struck  Mary,  and  to-night  made  her  indig- 
nant. 

"  Then  enjoy  it !  "  she  said,  laughing  and  frowning 
at  the  same  time.  "  That's  a  much  more  plain  duty 
for  you  than  it  was  for  Charles  to  stay  at  home  — 
there  !     Haven't  you  been  dancing?  " 

"  No,  Mr.  Raeburn  doesn't  dance.  But  he  thinks 
he  can  get  through  the  next  Lancers  if  I  will  steer 
him." 

"  Then  I  shall  find  a  seat  where  I  can  look  at  you," 
said  Mary,  decidedly.  "  Ah,  there  is  Mr.  Raeburn 
coming  to  introduce  somebody  to  you.  I  knew  they 
wouldn't  let  you  sit  here  long." 

Aldous  brought  up  a  young  Guardsman,  who  boldly 
asked  Miss  Boyce  for  the  pleasure  of  a  dance.  Mar- 
cella consented ;  and  off  they  swept  into  a  room  which 
was  only  just  beginning  to  fill  for  the  new  dance,  and 
where,  therefore,  for  the  moment  the  young  grace  of 
both  had  free  play.     Marcella  had  been  an  indefati- 


MARC  ELL  A.  355 

gable  dancer  in  the  old  London  days  at  those  students' 
parties,  with  their  dyed  gloves  and  lemonade  suppers, 
which  were  running  in  her  head  now,  as  she  swayed 
to  the  rhythm  of  this  perfect  band.  The  mere  delight 
in  movement  came  back  to  her ;  and  while  they 
danced,  she  danced  with  all  her  heart.  Then  in  the 
pauses  she  would  lean  against  the  wall  beside  her 
partner,  and  rack  her  brain  to  find  a  word  to  say  to 
him.  As  for  anything  that  he  said,  every  word  — 
whether  of  Ascot,  or  the  last  Academ}^,  or  the  new 
plays,  or  the  hunting  and  the  elections  —  sounded  to 
her  more  vapid  than  the  last. 

Meanwhile  Aldous  stood  near  Mary  Harden  and 
watched  the  dancing  figure.  He  had  never  seen  her 
dance  before.  Mary  shyly  stole  a  look  at  him  from 
time  to  time. 

"  Well,"  he  said  at  last,  stooping  to  his  neighbour, 
"  what  are  you  thinking  of  ?  " 

^'  I  think  she  is  a  dream  !  "  said  Mary,  flushing  with 
the  pleasure  of  being  able  to  say  it.  They  were  great 
friends,  he  and  she,  and  to-night  somehow  she  was  not 
a  bit  afraid  of  him. 

Aldous's  eye  sparkled  a  moment ;  then  he  looked 
down  at  her  with  a  kind  smile. 

"  If  you  suppose  I  am  going  to  let  you  sit  here  all 
night,  you  are  very  much  mistaken.  Marcella  gave  me 
precise  instructions.  I  am  going  off  this  moment  to 
find  somebody." 

"  Mr.  Kaeburn  —  don't !  "  cried  Mary,  catching  at 
him.  But  he  was  gone,  and  she  was  left  in  trepida- 
tion, imagining  the  sort  of  formidable  young  man  who 
was  soon  to  be  presented  to  her,  and  shaking  at  the 
thought  of  him. 


356  MABCELLA. 

AVhen  the  dance  was  over  Marcella  returned  to 
Miss  Eaeburn,  who  was  standing  at  the  door  into  the 
corridor  and  had  beckoned  to  her.  She  went  through 
a  number  of  new  introductions,  and  declared  to  herself 
that  she  was  doing  all  she  could.  Miss  Eaeburn  was 
not  so  well  satisfied. 

"  Why  can't  she  smile  and  chatter  like  other  girls  ?  " 
thought  Aunt  Xeta,  impatiently.  "  It's  her  '  ideas,'  I 
suppose.  What  rubbish!  There,  now  —  just  see  the 
difference !  *' 

Eor  at  the  moment  Lady  Winterbourne  came  up, 
and  instantly  Marcella  was  all  smiles  and  talk,  hold- 
ing her  friend  by  both  hands,  clinging  to  her  almost. 

''  Oh,  do  come  here  !  "  she  said,  leading  her  into  a 
corner.  ''  There's  such  a  crowd,  and  I  say  all  the 
wrong  things.  There  ! "  with  a  sigh  of  relief.  "Xow 
I  feel  myself  protected." 

"  I  mustn't  keep  you,"  said  Lady  Winterbourne,  a 
little  taken  aback  by  her  effusion.  ''Everybody  is 
wanting  to  talk  to  you." 

"  Oh,  I  know !  There  is  Miss  Eaeburn  looking  at 
me  severely  already.  But  I  must  do  as  I  like  a 
little." 

"  You  ought  to  do  as  Aldous  likes,"  said  Lady  AYin- 
terbourne,  suddenly,  in  her  deepest  and  most  tragic 
voice.  It  seemed  to  her  a  moment  had  come  for  ad- 
monition, and  she  seized  it  hastily. 

Marcella  stared  at  her  in  surprise.  She  knew  by 
now  that  when  Lady  Winterbourne  looked  most  for- 
bidding she  was  in  reality  most  shy.  But  still  she  was 
taken  aback. 

'•  Why  do  you  say  that,  I  wonder  ?  "  she  asked,  half 


MARCELLA.  357 

reproachfully.  "I  have  been  behaving  mj^self  quite 
nicely  —  I  have  indeed  ;  at  least,  as  nicely  as  I  knew 
how." 

Lady  Winterbounie's  tragic  air  yielded  to  a  slow 
smile. 

"You  look  very  well,  my  dear.  That  white  be- 
comes you  charmingly ;  so  do  the  pearls.  I  don't 
wonder  that  Aldous  always  knows  where  you  are." 

Marcella  raised  her  ej'es  and  caught  those  of  Aldous 
fixed  upon  her  from  the  other  side  of  the  room.  She 
blushed,  smiled  slightly,  and  looked  away. 

"Who  is  that  tall  man  just  gone  up  to  speak  to 
him  ?  "  she  asked  of  her  companion. 

"That  is  Lord  Wandle,"  said  Lady  Winterbourne, 
"and  his  plain  second  wife  behind  him.  Edward 
always  scolds  me  for  not  admiring  him.  He  says 
women  know  nothing  at  all  about  men's  looks,  and 
that  Lord  Wandle  was  the  most  splendid  man  of  his 
time.     But  I  always  think  it  an  unpleasant  face." 

"  Lord  Wandle  ! "  exclaimed  Marcella,  frowning. 
"  Oh,  please  come  with  me,  dear  Lady  Winterbourne  ! 
I  know  he  is  asking  Aldous  to  introduce  him,  and  I 
w^on't  —  no  I  will  not —  be  introduced  to  him." 

And  laying  hold  of  her  astonished  companion,  she 
drew  her  hastily  through  a  doorway  near,  walked 
quickly,  still  gripping  her,  through  two  connected 
rooms  beyond,  and  finally  landed  her  and  herself  on  a 
sofa  in  Lord  Maxwell's  library,  pursued  meanwhile 
through  all  her  hurried  course  by  the  curious  looks  of 
an  observant  throng. 

"  That  man  !  —  no,  that  would  really  have  been  too 
much!"  said  JNIarcella,  using  her  large  feather  fan 
with  stormy  energy. 


358  MABCELLA. 

"  What  is  the  matter  with  you,  my  dear  ?  "  said 
Lady  Wiiiterbourne  in  her  amazement ;  '-and  what  is 
the  matter  with  Lord  Wandle  ?  " 

"  You  must  know ! "  said  Marcella,  indignantly. 
''Oh,  you  must  have  seen  that  case  in  the  paper  last 
week  —  that  shocking  case!  A  woman  and  two  chil- 
dren died  in  one  of  his  cottages  of  blood-poisoning  — 
nothing  in  the  world  but  his  neglect  —  his  brutal 
neglect !  "  Her  breast  heaved ;  she  seemed  almost  on 
the  point  of  weeping.     "  The  agent  was  appealed  to 

—  did  nothing.  Then  the  clergyman  wrote  to  him 
direct,  and  got  an  answer.  The  answer  was  pub- 
lished. For  cruel  insolence  I  never  saw  anything 
like  it !     He  ought  to  be  in  prison  for  manslaughter 

—  and  he  comes  here!  And  people  laugh  and  talk 
with  him ! " 

She  stopped,  almost  choked  by  her  own  passion. 
But  the  incident,  after  all,  Avas  only  the  spark  to  the 
mine. 

Lady  Winterbourne  stared  at  her  helplessly. 

"  Perhaps  it  isn't  true,"  she  suggested.  '•  The  news- 
papers put  in  so  many  lies,  especially  about  us  —  the 
landlords.  Edward  says  one  ought  never  to  believe 
them.     Ah,  here  comes  Aldous." 

Aldous,  indeed,  with  some  perplexity  on  his  brow, 
was  to  be  seen  approaching,  looking  for  his  betrothed. 
Marcella  dropped  her  fan  and  sat  erect,  her  angry 
colour  fading  into  whiteness. 

"  My  darling !  I  couldn't  think  what  had  become  of 
you.  May  I  bring  Lord  Wandle  and  introduce  him 
to  you  ?  He  is  an  old  friend  here,  and  my  godfather. 
Not  that  I  am  particularly  proud  of  the  relationship," 


MARCELLA.  359 

he  said,  dropping  his  voice  as  he  stooped  over  her. 
"He  is  a  soured,  disagreeable  fellow,  and  I  hate  many 
of  the  things  he  does.  But  it  is  an  old  tie,  and  my 
grandfather  is  tender  of  such  things.  Only  a  word  or 
two ;  then  I  will  get  rid  of  him." 

"  Aldous,  I  cajiH,''  said  ]\[arcella,  looking  up  at  him. 
'•  How  could  I  ?  I  saw  that  case.  I  must  be  rude  to  him." 

Aldous  looked  considerably  disturbed. 

"  It  was  very  bad,"  he  said  slowly.  "  I  didn't  know 
you  had  seen  it.  What  shall  I  do  ?  I  promised  to  go 
back  for  him." 

•^  Lord  Wandle  —  Miss  Boyce  !  "  said  ^liss  Rae- 
burn's  sharp  little  voice  behind  Aldous.  Aldous, 
moving  aside  in  hasty  dismay,  saw  his  aunt,  looking- 
very  determined,  presenting  her  tall  neighbour,  who 
bowed  with  old-fashioned  deference  to  the  girl  on  the 
sofa. 

Lady  AVinterbourne  looked  with  trepidation  at 
Marcella.  But  the  social  instinct  held,  to  some  ex- 
tent. Ninety-nine  women  can  threaten  a  scene  of  the 
kind  Lady  Winterbourne  dreaded,  for  one  that  can 
carry  it  through.  Marcella  wavered ;  then,  with  her 
most  forbidding  air,  she  made  a  scarcely  perceptible 
return  of  Lord  Wandle's  bow. 

"  Did  you  escape  in  here  out  of  the  heat  ?  "  he  asked 
her.  "  But  I  am  afraid  no  one  lets  you  escape  to-night. 
The  occasion  is  too  interesting." 

Marcella  made  no  reply.  Lady  Winterbourne  threw 
in  a  nervous  remark  on  the  crowd. 

"Oh,  yes,  a  great  crush,"  said  Lord  Wandle.  "Of 
course,  we  all  come  to  see  Aldous  happy.  How  long 
is  it,  Miss  Boyce,  since  you  settled  at  Mellor  ?  " 


S60  MAUCELLA. 

"Six  months." 

She  looked  straight  before  her  and  not  at  him  as 
she  ans^vered,  and  her  tone  made  Miss  Raeburn's  blood 
boil. 

Lord  Wandle  —  a  battered,  coarsened,  but  still  mag- 
nificent-looking man  of  sixt}^  —  examined  the  speaker 
an  instant  from  half-shut  eyes,  then  put  up  his  hand  to 
his  moustache  with  a  half-smile. 

"  You  like  the  country  ?  " 

"Yes." 

As  she  spoke  her  reluctant  monosyllable,  the  girl 
had  really  no  conception  of  the  degree  of  hostility  ex- 
pressed in  her  manner.  Instead  she  was  hating  herself 
for  her  own  pusillanimity. 

"  And  the  people  ?  " 

"  Some  of  them." 

And  straightway  she  raised  her  fierce  black  eyes  to 
his,  and  the  man  before  her  understood,  as  plainly  as 
any  one  need  understand,  that,  whoever  else  Miss  Boyce 
might  like,  she  did  not  like  Lord  Wandle,  and  wished 
for  no  more  conversation  with  him. 

Her  interrogator  turned  to  Aldous  with  smiling 
aplomb. 

''  Thank  you,  my  dear  Aldous.  Now  let  me  retire. 
No  one  must  monopolise  j^our  charming  lady." 

And  again  he  bowed  low  to  her,  this  time  with 
an  ironical  emphasis  not  to  be  mistaken,  and  walked 
away. 

Lady  Winterbourne  saw  him  go  up  to  his  wife,  who 
had  followed  him  at  a  distance,  and  speak  to  her 
roughly  with  a  frown.  They  left  the  room,  and 
presently,  through  the  other  door  of  the  library  which 


MARCELLA.  361 

opened  on  the  corridor,  she  saw  them  pass,  as  though 
they  were  going  to  their  carriage. 

Marcella  rose.  She  looked  first  at  Miss  Eaeburn  — 
then  at  Aldoiis. 

"  Will  you  take  me  away  ?  "  she  said,  going  up  to 
him  ;  "  I  am  tired  —  take  me  to  your  room." 

He  put  her  hand  inside  his  arm,  and  they  pushed 
their  way  through  the  crowd.  Outside  in  the  passage 
they  met  Hallin.  He  had  not  seen  her  before,  and  he 
put  out  his  hand.  But  there  was  something  distant  in 
his  gentle  greeting  which  struck  at  this  moment  like  a 
bruise  on  Marcella's  quivering  nerves.  It  came  across 
her  that  for  some  time  past  he  had  made  no  further 
advances  to  her ;  that  his  first  eager  talk  of  friendship 
between  himself  and  her  had  dropped ;  that  his  accept- 
ance of  her  into  his  world  and  Aldous's  was  somehow 
suspended  —  in  abeyance.  She  bit  her  lip  tightly  and 
hurried  Aldous  along.  Again  the  same  lines  of  gay, 
chatting  people  along  the  corridor,  and  on  either  side 
of  the  wide  staircase  —  greetings,  introduction  —  a 
nightmare  of  publicity. 

"Rather  pronounced  —  to  carry  him  off  like  that," 
said  a  clergyman  to  his  wife  with  a  kindly  smile,  as 
the  two  tall  figures  disappeared  along  the  upper  gal- 
lery.    "She  will  have  him  all  to  herself  before  long." 

Aldous  shut  the  door  of  his  sitting-room  behind 
them.  Marcella  quickly  drew  her  hand  out  of  his 
arm,  and  going  forward  to  the  mantelpiece  rested  both 
elbows  upon  it  and  hid  her  face. 

He  looked  at  her  a  moment  in  distress  and  astonish- 
ment, standing  a  little  apart.     Then  he  saw  that  she 


362  MARC  ELL  A. 

was  crying.  The  colour  flooded  into  his  face,  and 
going  up  to  her  he  took  her  hand,  which  was  all  she 
would  yield  him,  and,  holding  it  to  his  lips,  said  in 
her  ear  every  soothing  tender  word  that  love's  tutor- 
ing could  bring  to  mind.  In  his  emotion  he  told  him- 
self and  her  that  he  admired  and  loved  her  the  more 
for  the  incident  dow^nstairs,  for  the  temper  she  had 
shown  !  She  alone  among  them  all  had  had  the  cour- 
age to  strike  the  true  stern  Christian  note.  As  to  the 
annoyance  such  courage  might  bring  upon  him  and 
her  in  the  future  —  even  as  to  the  trouble  it  might 
cause  his  own  dear  folk  —  what  real  matter  ?  In 
these  things  she  should  lead. 

What  could  love  have  asked  better  than  such  a 
moment?  Yet  Marcella's  weeping  was  in  truth  the 
weeping  of  despair.  This  man's  very  sweetness  to 
her,  his  very  assumption  of  the  right  to  comfort  and 
approve  her,  roused  in  her  a  desperate  stifled  sense  of 
bonds  that  should  never  have  been  made,  and  that 
now  could  not  be  broken.  It  was  all  plain  to  her  at 
last.  His  touch  had  no  thrill  for  her;  his  frown  no 
terror.  She  had  accepted  him  without  loving  him, 
coveting  what  he  could  give  her.  And  now^  it  seemed 
to  her  that  she  cared  nothing  for  anything  he  could 
give  !^  that  the  life  before  her  was  to  be  one  series 
of  petty  conflicts  between  her  and  a  surrounding  cir- 
cumstance which  must  inevitably  in  the  end  be  too 
strong  for  her,  conflicts  from  which  neither  heart  nor 
ambition  could  gain  anything.  She  had  desired  a 
great  position  for  what  she  might  do  with  it.  But 
what  could  she  do  with  it !  She  would  be  subdued  — 
oh !  very  quickly  !  —  to  great  houses  and  great  people. 


MARCELLA.  363 

and  all  the  vapid  pomp  and  idle  toil  of  wealth.  All 
that  picture  of  herself,  stooping  from  place  and  power, 
to  bind  up  the  wounds  of  the  people,  in  which  she  had 
once  delighted,  was  to  her  now  a  mere  flimsy  vulgar- 
ity.    She  had  been  shown  other  ideals  —  other  ways 

—  and  her  pulses  were  still  swaying  under  the  audacity 

—  the  virile  inventive  force  of  the  showman.  Every- 
thing she  had  once  desired  looked  flat  to  her ;  every- 
thing she  was  not  to  have,  glowed  and  shone.  Poverty, 
adventure,  passion,  the  joys  of  self-realisation  —  these 
she  gave  up.  She  would  become  Lady  Maxwell,  make 
friends  with  Miss  Raeburn,  and  wear  the  family  dia- 
monds ! 

Then,  in  the  midst  of  her  rage  with  herself  and 
fate,  she  drew  herself  away,  looked  up,  and  caught  full 
the  e3^es  of  Aldous  Raeburn.  Conscience  stung  and 
burned.  What  was  this  life  she  had  dared  to  trifle 
with  —  this  man  she  had  dared  to  treat  as  a  mere 
pawn  in  her  own  game  ?  She  gave  way  utterly, 
appalled  at  her  own  misdoing,  and  behaved  like  a 
penitent  child.  Aldous,  astonished  and  alarmed  by 
her  emotions  and  by  the  wild  incoherent  things  she 
said,  won  his  way  at  last  to  some  moments  of  divine 
happiness,  when,  leaving  her  trembling  hand  in  his, 
she  sat  submissively  beside  him,  gradually  quieting 
down,  summoning  back  her  smiles  and  her  beauty,  and 
letting  him  call  her  all  the  fond  names  he  would. 


CHAPTER   VIII. 

Scarcely  a  word  was  exchanged  between  Marcella 
and  lier  motlier  on  the  drive  home.  Yet  under  ordi- 
nary circumstances  Marcella' s  imagination  would 
have  found  some  painful  exercise  in  the  effort  to  find 
out  in  what  spirit  her  mother  had  taken  the  evening 
—  the  first  social  festivity  in  which  Eichard  Boyce's 
wife  had  taken  part  for  sixteen  years.  In  fact,  Mrs. 
Boyce  had  gone  through  it  very  quietly.  After  her 
first  public  entry  on  Lord  Maxwell's  arm  she  had  sat 
in  her  corner,  taking  keen  note  of  everything,  enjoy- 
ing probably  the  humours  of  her  kind.  Several  old 
acquaintances  who  had  seen  her  at  Mellor  as  a  young 
wife  in  her  first  married  years  had  come  up  with  some 
trepidation  to  speak  to  her.  She  had  received  them 
with  her  usual  well-bred  indifference,  and  they  had 
gone  away  under  the  impression  that  she  regarded 
herself  as  restored  to  society  by  this  great  match  that 
her  daughter  was  making.  Lady  Winterbourne  had 
been  shyly  and  therefore  formidably  kind  to  her;  and 
both  Lord  Maxwell  and  Miss  Ilaeburn  had  been  gen- 
uinely interested  in  smoothing  the  effort  to  her  as 
much  as  they  could.  She  meanwhile  watched  Mar- 
cella —  except  through  the  encounter  with  Lord 
Wandle,  which  she  did  not  see  —  and  found  some  real 
pleasure  in  talking  both  to  Aldous  and  to  Hallin. 

Yet  all  through  she  was  preoccupied,  and  towards 
364 


MARCELLA.  365 

the  end  very  anxious  to  get  home,  a  state  of  mind 
which  prevented  her  from  noticing  ^Marcella's  changed 
looks  after  her  reappearance  with  Ahlous  in  the  ball- 
room, as  closely  as  she  otherwise  might  have  done. 
Yet  the  mother  had  observed  that  the  end  of  Mar- 
cella's  progress  had  been  somewhat  different  from  the 
beginning;  that  the  girl's  greetings  had  been  gen- 
tler, her  smiles  softer;  and  that  in  particular  she  had 
taken  some  pains,  some  wistful  pains,  to  make  Hallin 
talk  to  her.  Lord  Maxwell  —  ignorant  of  the  Wandle 
incident  —  was  charmed  with  her,  and  openly  said  so, 
both  to  the  mother  and  Lady  Winterbourne,  in  his 
hearty  old  man's  way.  Only  Miss  Raeburn  held  in- 
dignantly aloof,  and  would  not  pretend,  even  to  Mrs. 
Boyce. 

And  now  Marcella  was  tired  —  dead  tired,  she  said 
to  herself,  both  in  mind  and  body.  She  lay  back 
in  the  carriage,  trying  to  sink  herself  in  her  own 
fatigue,  to  forget  everything,  to  think  of  nothing. 
Outside  the  night  was  mild,  and  the  moon  clear.  For 
some  days  past,  after  the  break  up  of  the  long  frost, 
there  had  been  heavy  rain.  Xow  the  rain  had  cleared 
away,  and  in  the  air  there  was  already  an  early 
promise  of  spring.  As  she  walked  home  from  the 
village  that  afternoon  she  had  felt  the  buds  and  the 
fields  stirring. 

When  they  got  home,  Mrs.  Boyce  turned  to  her 
daughter  at  the  head  of  the  stairs,  "Shall  I  unlace 
your  dress,  ]\rarcella?  " 

"Oh  no,  thank  you.     Can  I  help  you?" 

"No.     Good-night." 

"Mamma!"     Marcella  turned   and  ran  after  her. 


366  MA  EC  ELL  A. 

"  I  should  like  to  know  how  papa  is.  I  will  wait  here 
if  you  will  tell  me." 

Mrs.  Boyce  looked  surprised.  Then  she  went  into 
her  room  and  shut  the  door.  jMarcella  waited  out- 
side, leaning  against  the  old  oak  gallery  which  ran 
round  the  hall,  her  candle  the  one  spot  of  light  and 
life  in  the  great  dark  house. 

"He  seems  to  have  slept  well,"  said  Mrs.  Boyce, 
reappearing,  and  speaking  under  her  breath.  "He 
has  not  taken  the  opiate  I  left  for  him,  so  he  cannot 
have  been  in  pain.     Good-night." 

Marcella  kissed  her  and  went.  Somehow,  in  her 
depression  of  nerve  and  will,  she  was  loth  to  go  away 
by  herself.  The  loneliness  of  the  night,  and  of  her 
wing  of  the  house,  weighed  upon  her ;  the  noises  made 
by  the  old  boards  under  her  steps,  the  rustling  draughts 
from  the  dark  passages  to  right  and  left  startled  and 
troubled  her ;  she  found  herself  childishly  fearing  lest 
her  candle  should  go  out. 

Yet,  as  she  descended  the  two  steps  to  the  passage 
outside  her  door,  she  could  have  felt  little  practical 
need  of  it,  for  the  moonlight  was  streaming  in  through 
its  uncovered  windows,  not  directly,  but  reflected 
from  the  Tudor  front  of  the  house  which  ran  at  right 
angles  to  this  passage,  and  was  to-night  a  shining 
silver  palace,  every  battlement,  window,  and  mould- 
ing in  sharpest  light  and  shade  under  the  radiance  of 
the  night.  Beneath  her  feet,  as  she  looked  out  into 
the  Cedar  Garden,  was  a  deep  triangle  of  shadow, 
thrown  by  that  part  of  the  building  in  which  she 
stood;  and  beyond  the  garden  the  barred  black  masses 
of  the  cedars  closing  up  the  view  lent  additional  magic 


MARCELLA.  367 

to  the  glittering  unsubstantial  fabric  of  the  moonlit 
house,  which  was,  as  it  were,  embosomed  and  framed 
among  them.  She  paused  a  moment,  struck  by  the 
strangeness  and  beauty  of  the  spectacle.  The  Tudor 
front  had  the  air  of  some  fairy  banqueting-hall  lit  by 
unearthly  hands  for  some  weird  gathering  of  ghostly 
knights.  Then  she  turned  to  her  room,  impatiently 
longing  in  her  sick  fatigue  to  be  quit  of  her  dress  and 
ornaments  and  tumble  into  sleep. 

Yet  she  made  no  hurry.  She  fell  on  the  first  chair 
that  offered.  Her  candle  behind  her  had  little  power 
over  the  glooms  of  the  dark  tapestried  room,  but  it 
did  serve  to  illuminate  the  lines  of  her  own  form,  as 
she  saw  it  reflected  in  the  big  glass  of  her  wardrobe, 
straight  in  front  of  her.  She  sat  with  her  hands 
round  her  knees,  absently  looking  at  herself,  a  white 
long-limbed  apparition  struck  out  of  the  darkness. 
But  she  was  conscious  of  nothing  save  one  mounting 
overwhelming  passionate  desire,  almost  a  cry. 

Mr.  Wharton  must  go  away  —  he  7nnst  —  or  she 
could  not  bear  it. 

Quick  alternations  of  insight,  memory,  self-recog- 
nition, self-surrender,  rose  and  broke  upon  her.  At 
last,  physical  weariness  recalled  her.  She  put  up  her 
hands  to  take  off  her  pearls. 

As  she  did  so,  she  started,  hearing  a  noise  that 
made  her  turn  her  head.  Just  outside  her  door  a 
little  spiral  staircase  led  down  from  her  corridor  to 
the  one  below,  which  ran  at  the  back  of  the  old  library, 
and  opened  into  the  Cedar  Garden  at  its  further  end. 

Steps  surely  —  light  steps  —  along  the  corridor 
outside,    and  on  the    staircase.      Xor   did   they   die 


368  MARC  ELLA. 

away.  She  could  still  hear  them, —  as  she  sat, 
arrested,  straining  her  ears, —  pacing  slowly  along 
the  lower  passage. 

Her  heart,  after  its  pause,  leapt  into  fluttering  life. 
This  room  of  hers,  the  two  passages,  the  library,  and 
the  staircase,  represented  that  part  of  the  house  to 
which  the  ghost  stories  of  Mellor  clung  most  persist- 
ently. Substantially  the  block  of  building  was  of 
early  Tudor  date,  but  the  passages  and  the  staircase 
had  been  alterations  made  with  some  clumsiness  at 
the  time  of  the  erection  of  the  eighteenth-century 
front,  with  a  view  to  bringing  these  older  rooms  into 
the  general  plan.  Marcella,  however,  might  demon- 
strate as  she  pleased  that  the  Boyce  who  was  sup- 
posed to  have  stabbed  himself  on  the  staircase  died 
at  least  forty  years  before  the  staircase  was  made. 
None  the  less,  no  servant  would  go  alone,  if  she  could 
help  it,  into  either  passage  after  dark;  and  there  was 
much  excited  marvelling  how  Miss  Boyce  could  sleep 
where  she  did.  Deacon  abounded  in  stories  of  things 
spiritual  and  peripatetic,  of  steps,  groans,  lights  in 
the  library,  and  the  rest.  Marcella  had  consistently 
laughed  at  her. 

Yet  all  the  same  she  had  made  in  secret  a  very  dili- 
gent pursuit  of  this  ghost,  settling  in  the  end  to  a 
certain  pique  with  him  that  he  would  not  show  him- 
self to  so  ardent  a  daughter  of  the  house.  She  had 
sat  up  waiting  for  him;  she  had  lingered  in  the  corri- 
dor outside,  and  on  the  stairs,  expecting  him.  By 
the  help  of  a  favourite  carpenter  she  had  made  re- 
searches into  roofs,  water-pipes,  panelling,  and  old 
cupboards,  in  the  hope  of  finding  a  practical  clue  to 
him.     In  vain. 


MARCELLA.  369 

Yet  here  were  the  steps  —  regular,  soft,  unmistaka- 
ble. The  colour  rushed  back  into  her  cheeks!  Her 
eager  healthy  youth  forgot  its  woes,  flung  off  its  weari- 
ness, and  panted  tor  an  adventure,  a  discovery.  Spring- 
ing up,  she  threw  her  fur  wrap  round  her  again,  and 
gently  opened  the  door,  listening. 

For  a  minute,  nothing  —  then  a  few  vague  sounds 
as  of  something  living  and  moving  down  below  — 
surely  in  the  library?  Then  the  steps  again.  Im- 
possible that  it  should  be  any  one  breaking  in.  Xo 
burglar  would  walk  so  leisurely.  She  closed  her  door 
behind  her,  and,  gathering  her  white  satin  skirts  about 
her,  she  descended  the  staircase. 

The  corridor  below  was  in  radiant  moonlight, 
chequered  by  the  few  pieces  of  old  furniture  it  con- 
tained, and  the  black  and  white  of  the  old  portrait 
prints  hanging  on  the  walls.  At  first  her  seeking, 
excited  eyes  could  make  out  nothing.  Then  in  a  flash 
they  perceived  the  figure  of  Wharton  at  the  further 
end  near  the  garden  door,  leaning  against  one  of  the 
windows.  He  was  apparently  looking  out  at  the 
moonlit  house,  and  she  caught  the  faint  odour  of  a 
cigarette. 

Her  first  instinct  was  to  turn  and  fly.  But  Whar- 
ton had  seen  her.  As  he  looked  about  him  at  the 
sound  of  her  approach,  the  moon,  which  was  just 
rounding  the  corner  of  the  house,  struck  on  her  full, 
amid  the  shadows  of  the  staircase,  and  she  heard  his 
exclamation. 

Dignity  —  a  natural  pride  —  made  her  pause.  She 
came  forward  slowly  —  he  eagerly. 

"I    heard   footsteps,"    she   said,    with    a   coldness 

VOL.    I. 2J: 


370  MARCEL  LA. 

under  which  he  plainly  saw  her  embarrassment.  ''  I 
could  not  suppose  that  anybody  was  still  up,  so  I 
came  down  to  see." 

He  was  silent  a  moment,  scanning  her  with  laugh- 
ing eyes.  Then  he  shook  his  head.  "Confess  you 
took  me  for  the  ghost?"  he  said. 

,  She  hesitated;  then  must  laugh  too.     She  herself 
had  told  him  the  stories,  so  that  his  guess  was  natural. 

"Perhaps  I  did,"  she  said.  "One  more  disappoint- 
ment!    Good-night." 

He  looked  after  her  a  quick  undecided  moment  as 
she  made  a  step  in  front  of  him,  then  at  the  half- 
burnt  cigarette  he  held  in  his  hand,  threw  the  end 
away  with  a  hasty  gesture,  overtook  her  and  walked 
beside  her  along  the  corridor. 

"  I  heard  you  and  your  mother  come  in, "  he  said,  as 
though  explaining  himself.  "Then  I  waited  till  I 
thought  you  must  both  be  asleep,  and  came  down 
here  to  look  at  that  wonderful  effect  on  the  old  house. '^ 
He  pointed  to  the  silver  palace  outside.  "  I  have  a 
trick  of  being  sleepless  —  a  trick,  too,  of  wandering 
at  night.  My  own  people  know  it,  and  bear  with  me, 
but  I  am  abashed  tliat  you  should  have  found  me  out. 
Just  tell  me  —  in  one  word  —  how  the  ball  went?  " 

He  paused  at  the  foot  of  the  stairs,  his  hands  on 
his  sides,  as  keenly  wide-awake  as  though  it  were 
three  o'clock  in  the  afternoon  instead  of  three  in  the 
morning. 

Womanlike,  her  mood  instantly  shaped  itself  to  his. 

"It  went  very  well,"  she  said  perversely,  putting 
her  satin-slippered  foot  on  the  first  step.  "There 
were  six  hundred  people  upstairs,  and  four  hundred 


MARCELLA.  371 

coachmen  and  footmen  downstairs,  according  to  our 
man.     Everybody  said  it  was  splendid." 

His  piercing  enigmatic  gaze  could  not  leave  her. 
As  he  had  often  frankly  warned  her,  he  was  a  man  in 
quest  of  sensations.  Certainly,  in  this  strange  meet- 
ing with  Aldous  Raeburn's  betrothed,  in  the  midst  of 
the  sleep-bound  house,  he  had  found  one.  Her  eyes 
were  heavy,  her  cheek  pale.  But  in  this  soft  vague 
light  —  w^hite  arms  and  neck  now  hidden,  now  re- 
vealed by  the  cloak  she  had  thrown  about  her  glisten- 
ing satin  —  she  was  more  enchanting  than  he  had 
ever  seen  her.     His  breath  quickened. 

He  said  to  himself  that  he  would  make  Miss  Boyce 
stay  and  talk  to  him.  What  harm  —  to  her  or  to 
Raeburn?  Raeburn  would  have  chances  enough  be- 
fore long.  Why  admit  his  monopoly  before  the  time? 
She  was  not  in  love  with  him!  As  to  Mrs.  Grundy 
—  absurd !  What  in  the  tru-e  reasonableness  of  things 
was  to  prevent  human  beings  from  conversing  by 
night  as  well  as  by  day? 

''One  moment"  —  he  said,  delaying  her.  "You 
must  be  dead  tired  —  too  tired  for  romance.  Else  I 
should  say  to  you,  turn  aside  an  instant  and  look  at 
the  library.     It  is  a  sight  to  remember." 

Inevitably  she  glanced  behind  her,  and  saw  that 
the  library  door  was  ajar.  He  flung  it  open,  and  the 
great  room  showed  wide,  its  high  domed  roof  lost  in 
shadow,  while  along  the  bare  floor  and  up  the  latticed 
books  crept,  here  streaks  and  fingers,  and  there  wide 
breadths  of  light  from  the  unshuttered  and  curtainless 
windows. 

"Isn't  it  the  very  poetry  of  night  and  solitude?" 


372  MARCELLA. 

he  said,  looking  in  with  her.  "You  love  the  place; 
but  did  you  ever  see  it  so  lovable?  The  dead  are 
here;  you  did  right  to  come  and  seek  them!  Look  at 
your  namesake,  in  that  ray.  To-night  she  lives! 
She  knows  that  is  her  husband  opposite  —  those  are 
her  books  beside  her.  And  the  rebel!  "  —  he  pointed 
smiling  to  the  portrait  of  John  Boyce.  ''When  you 
are  gone  I  shall  shut  myself  up  here  —  sit  in  his 
chair,  invoke  him  —  and  put  my  speech  together.  I 
am  nervous  about  to-morrow"  (he  was  bound,  as  she 
knew,  to  a  large  Labour  Congress  in  the  ^lidlands, 
where  he  was  to  preside),  "and  sleep  will  make  no 
terms  with  me.  Ah!  —  how  strange!  Who  can  that 
be  passing  the  avenue?" 

He  made  a  step  or  two  into  the  room,  and  put  up 
his  hand  to  his  brow,  looking  intently.  Involunta- 
rily, yet  with  a  thrill,  Marcella  followed.  They 
walked  to  the  window. 

"It  is  Hurcl!^^  she  cried  in  a  tone  of  distress, 
pressing  her  face  against  the  glass.  "Out  at  this 
time,  and  with  a  gun !     Oh,  dear,  dear !  " 

There  could  be  no  question  that  it  was  Hurd. 
Wharton  had  seen  him  linger  in  the  shadowy  edge  of 
the  avenue,  as  though  reconnoitring,  and  now,  as  he 
stealthily  crossed  the  moonlit  grass,  his  slouching 
dwarf's  figure,  his  large  head,  and  the  short  gun 
under  his  arm,  were  all  plainly  visible. 

"What  do  you  suppose  he  is  after?  "  said  Wharton, 
still  gazing,  his  hands  in  his  pockets. 

"I  don't  know;  he  wouldn't  poach  on  our  land; 
I'm  sure  he  wouldn't!  Besides,  there  is  nothing  to 
poach."  —  Wharton  smiled. — "He  must   be   going, 


MARCELLA.  373 

after  all,  to  Lord  Maxwell's  coverts !  They  are  just 
beyond  the  avenue,  on  the  side  of  the  hill.  Oh!  it  is 
too  disappointing!     Can  we  do  anything?" 

She  looked  at  her'  companion  with  troubled  eyes. 
This  incursion  of  something  sadly  and  humanly  real 
seemed  suddenly  to  have  made  it  natural  to  be  stand- 
ing beside  him  there  at  that  strange  hour.  Her  con- 
science was  soothed. 

Wharton  shook  his  head. 

"I  don't  see  what  we  could  do.  How  strong  the 
instinct  is!  I  told  3^ou  that  woman  had  a  secret. 
Well,  it  is  only  one  form  —  the  squalid  peasant's 
form  —  of  the  same  instinct  which  sends  the  young 
fellows  of  our  class  ruffling  it  and  chancing  it  all. over 
the  world.  It  is  the  instinct  to  take  one's  fling,  to 
get  out  of  the  rut,  to  claim  one's  innings  against  the 
powers  that  be  — iS"ature,  or  the  law,  or  convention." 

"  I  know  all  that  —  I  never  blame  them !  "  —  cried 
Marcella  —  "  but  just  now  it  is  so  monstrous  —  so 
dangerous !  Westall  specially  alert  —  and  this  gang 
about!  Besides,  I  got  him  work  from  Lord  Max- 
well, and  made  him  promise  me  —  for  the  wife  and 
children's  sake." 

Wharton  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"I  should  think  Westall  is  right,  and  that  the  gang 
have  got  hold  of  him.  It  is  what  always  happens. 
The  local  man  is  the  catspaw.  —  So  you  are  sorry  for 
him  —  this  man?"  he  said  in  another  tone,  facing 
round  upon  her. 

She  looked  astonished,  and  drew  herself  up  ner- 
vously, turning  at  the  same  time  to  leave  the  room. 
But  before  she  could  reply  he  hurried  on: 


374  MABCELLA. 

"  He  —  may  escape  liis  risk.  Give  your  pity,  Miss 
Boyce,  rather  to  one  —  who  has  not  escaped !  " 

"I  don't  know  what  3'ou  mean,"  she  said,  uncon- 
sciously laying  a  hand  on  one  of  the  old  chairs  beside 
her  to  steady  herself.  "But  it  is  too  late  to  talk. 
Good-night,  Mr.  AVharton." 

"Good-bye,"  he  said  quietly,  yet  with  a  low  em- 
phasis, at  the  same  time  moving  out  of  her  path. 
She  stopped,  hesitating.  Beneath  the  lace  and  faded 
flowers  on  her  breast  he  could  see  how  her  heart  beat. 

"^NTot  good-bye?  You  are  coming  back  after  the 
meeting?" 

"I  think  not.  I  must  not  inflict  myself  —  on  Mrs. 
Boyce  —  any  more.  You  will  all  be  very  busy  during 
the  next  three  Aveeks.  It  would  be  an  intrusion  if  I 
were  to  come  back  at  such  a  time  —  especially  —  con- 
sidering the  fact "  —  he  spoke  slowly  —  "  that  I  am  as 
distasteful  as  I  now  know  myself  to  be,  to  your  future 
husband.  Since  you  all  left  to-night  the  house  has 
been  very  quiet.  I  sat  over  the  Are  thinking.  It 
grew  clear  to  me.  I  must  go,  and  go  at  once.  Besides 
—  a  lonely  man  as  I  am  must  not  risk  his  nerve. 
His  task  is  set  him,  and  there  are  none  to  stand  by 
him  if  he  fails.'' 

She  trembled  all  over.  Weariness  and  excitement 
made  normal  self-control  almost  impossible. 

"Well,  then,  I  must  say  thank  you,"  she  said  indis- 
tinctly, "for  you  have  taught  me  a  great  deal." 

"  You  will  unlearn  it !  "  he  said  gaily,  recovering 
his  self-possession,  scf  it  seemed,  as  she  lost  hers. 
"  Besides,  before  many  weeks  are  over  you  will  have 
heard  hard  things  of  me.     I  know  that  very  well.     I 


MARCELLA.  375 

can  say  nothing  to  meet  them.  Xor  should  I  attempt 
anything.  It  may  sound  brazen,  but  that  past  of 
mine,  which  I  can  see  perpetually  present  in  Aldous 
Raeburn's  mind,  for  instance,  and  which  means  so 
much  to  his  good  aunt,  means  to  me  just  nothing  at 
all !  The  doctrine  of  identity  must  be  true  —  I  must 
be  the  same  person  I  was  then.  But,  all  the  same, 
what  I  did  then  does  not  matter  a  straw  to  me  now. 
To  all  practical  purposes  I  am  another  man.  I  was 
then  a  youth,  idle,  desoeiivre,  playing  with  all  the  keys 
of  life  in  turn.  I  have  now  unlocked  the  path  that 
suits  me.  Its  quest  has  transformed  me  —  as  I  be- 
lieve, ennobled  me.  I  do  not  ask  Raeburn  or  any  one 
else  to  believe  it.  It  is  my  own  affair.  Only,  if  we 
ever  meet  again  in  life,  you  and  I,  and  3'ou  think  you 
have  reason  to  ask  humiliation  of  me,  do  not  ask  it, 
do  not  expect  it.  The  man  you  will  have  in  your 
mind  has  nothing  to  do  with  me.  I  will  not  be 
answerable  for  his  sins." 

As  he  said  these  things  he  was  leaning  lightly  for- 
ward, looking  up  at  her,  his  arms  resting  on  the  back 
of  one  of  the  old  chairs,  one  foot  crossed  over  the 
other.     The  attitude  was  easy  calm  itself.     The  tone 

—  indomitable,  analytic,  reflective  —  matched  it.  Yet, 
all  the  same,  her  woman's  instinct  divined  a  hidden 
agitation,  and,  woman-like,  responded  to  that  and  that 
only. 

"Mr.  Raeburn  will  never  tell  me  old  stories  about 
anybody,"  she  said  proudly.     "I  asked  him  once,  out 

—  out  of  curiosity  —  about  you,  and  he  would  tell  me 
nothing." 

"  Generous !  "  said  Wharton,  drily.   " I  am  grateful." 


376  MAIWELLA. 

"No!  "  cried  Marcella,  indignantly,  rushing  blindly 
at  the  outlet  for  emotion.  "No!  — you  are  not  grate- 
ful; you  are  always  judging  him  harshly  —  criticising, 
despising  what  he  does." 

Wharton  was  silent  a  moment.  Even  in  the  moon- 
light she  could  see  the  reddening  of  his  cheek. 

"  So  be  it,"  he  said  at  last.  "  I  submit.  You  must 
know  best.  But  you?  are  you  always  content?  Does 
this  milieu  into  which  you  are  passing  always  satisfy 
you?  To-night,  did  your  royalty  please  you?  will  it 
soon  be  enough  for  you?  " 

"You  know  it  is  not  enough,"  she  broke  out,  hotly; 
"  it  is  insulting  that  you  should  ask  in  that  tone.  It 
means  that  you  think  me  a  hypocrite !  —  and  I  have 
given  you  no  cause  —  " 

"  Good  heavens,  no !  "  he  exclaimed,  interrupting 
her,  and  speaking  in  a  low,  hurried  voice.  "  I  had  no 
motive,  no  reason  for  what  I  said  —  none  —  but  this, 
that  you  are  going  —  that  we  are  parting.  I  spoke  in 
gibes  to  make  you  speak  —  somehow  to  strike  —  to 
reach  you.     To-morrow  it  will  be  too  late!  " 

And  before,  almost,  she  knew  that  he  had  moved, 
he  had  stooped  forward,  caught  a  fold  of  her  dress, 
pressed  it  to  his  lips,  and  dropped  it. 

"Don't  speak,"  he  said  brokenly,  springing  up,  and 
standing  before  her  in  her  path.  "  Y^ou  shall  forgive 
me  —  I  will  compel  it!  See!  here  w^e  are  on  this 
moonlit  space  of  floor,  alone,  in  the  night.  Very 
probably  we  shall  never  meet  again,  except  as  stran- 
gers. Put  off  convention,  and  speak  to  me,  soul  to 
soul !  You  are  not  happy  altogether  in  this  marriage. 
I  know  it.     Y^ou  have  as  good  as  confessed  it.     Yet 


MARCELLA.  377 

you  will  go  through  with  it.  You  have  given  your 
word  —  your  honour  holds  you.  I  recognise  that  it 
holds  you.  I  say  nothing,  not  a  syllable,  against  your 
bond!  But  here,  to-night,  tell  me,  promise  me  that 
you  will  make  this  marriage  of  yours  serve  our  hopes 
and  ends,  the  ends  that  you  and  I  have  foreseen  to- 
gether—  that  it  shall  be  your  instrument,  not  your 
chain.  "We  have  been  six  weeks  together.  You  say 
you  have  learnt  from  me;  you  have!  you  have  given 
me  your  mind,  your  heart  to  write  on,  and  I  have 
written.  Henceforward  you  will  never  look  at  life 
as  you  might  have  done  if  I  had  not  been  here.  Do 
you  think  I  triumph,  that  I  boast?  Ah!  "  he  drew  in 
his  breath  — "  What  if  in  helping  you,  and  teaching 
you  —  for  I  have  helped  and  taught  you!  —  I  have 
undone  myself?  What  if  I  came  here  the  slave  of 
impersonal  causes,  of  ends  not  my  own?  What  if  I 
leave  —  maimed  —  in  face  of  the  battle?  Not  your 
fault?  No,  perhaps  not!  but,  at  least,  you  owe  me 
some  gentleness  now,  in  these  last  words  —  some  kind- 
ness in  farewell." 

He  came  closer,  held  out  his  hands.  With  one  of 
her  own  she  put  his  back,  and  lifted  the  other  dizzily 
to  her  forehead. 

"  Don't  come  near  me !  "  she  said,  tottering.  "  What 
is  it?     I  cannot  see.     Go!  " 

And  guiding  herself,  as  though  blindfold,  to  a  chaii', 
she  sank  upon  it,  and  her  head  dropped.  It  was  tlie 
natural  result  of  a  moment  of  intense  excitement  com- 
ing upon  nerves  already  strained  and  tried  to  theii- 
utmost.  She  fought  desperately  against  her  weak- 
ness; but  there  was  a  moment  when  all  around  her 
swam,  and  she  knew  nothing. 


378  MARC  ELL  A. 

Then  came  a  strange  awakening.  What  was  this 
room,  this  weird  light,  these  unfamiliar  forms  of 
things,  this  warm  support  against  which  her  cheek 
lay?  She  opened  her  eyes  languidly.  They  met 
Wharton's  half  in  wonder.  He  was  kneeling  beside 
her,  holding  her.  But  for  an  instant  she  realised 
nothing  except  his  look,  to  which  her  own  helplessly 
replied. 

"  Once !  "  she  heard  him  whisper.  "  Once !  Then 
nothing  more  —  for  ever." 

And  stooping,  slowly,  deliberately,  he  kissed  her. 

In  a  stinging  flow,  life,  shame,  returned  upon  her. 
She  struggled  to  her  feet,  pushing  him  from  her. 

"You  dared,"  she  said,  ^^ dared  such  a  thing!  " 

She  could  say  no  more;  but  her  attitude,  fiercely 
instinct,  through  all  her  physical  weakness,  with  her 
roused  best  self,  was  speech  enough.  He  did  not  ven- 
ture to  approach  her.  She  walked  away.  He  heard 
the  door  close,  hurrying  steps  on  the  little  stairs,  then 
silence. 

He  remained  where  she  had  left  him,  leaning 
against  the  latticed  wall  for  some  time.  When  he 
moved  it  was  to  pick  up  a  piece  of  maidenhair  which 
had  dropped  from  her  dress. 

"That  was  a  scene! "  he  said,  looking  at  it,  and  at 
the  trembling  of  his  own  hand.  "  It  carries  one  back 
to  the  days  of  the  Romantics.  Was  I  Alfred  de 
Musset?  —  and  she  George  Sand?  Did  any  of  them 
ever  taste  a  more  poignant  moment  than  I  —  when  she 

—  lay  upon  my  breast?     To  be  helpless  —  yet  yield 
nothing  —  it  challenged  me !     Yet  I  took  no  advantage 

—  none.     When  she  looked  —  when  her  eye,  her  soul, 


MABCELLA.  379 

was,  for  that  instant,  mine,  then !  —  Well !  —  the  world 
has  rushed  with  me  since  I  saw  her  on  the  stairs ;  life 
can  bring  me  nothing  of  such  a  quality  again.  What 
did  I  say?  —  how  much  did  I  mean?  My  God!  how 
can  I  tell?     I  began  as  an  actor,  did  I  finish  as  a 


man 


9" 


He  paced  up  and  down,  thinking ;  gradually,  by  the 
help  of  an  iron  will  quieting  down  each  rebellious 
pulse. 

"  That  poacher  fellow  did  me  a  good  turn.  Dare ! 
the  word  galled.  But,  after  all,  what  woman  could 
say  less?  And  what  matter?  I  have  held  her  in  my 
arms,  in  a  setting  —  under  a  moon  —  worthy  of  her. 
Is  not  life  enriched  thereby  bej'ond  robbery?  And 
what  harm?  Eaeburn  is  not  injured.  She  will  never 
tell  —  and  neither  of  us  will  ever  forget.  Ah !  —  what 
was  that?" 

He  walked  quickly  to  the  window.  What  he  had 
heard  had  been  a  dull  report  coming  apparently  from 
the  woods  beyond  the  eastern  side  of  the  avenue.  As 
he  reached  the  window  it  was  followed  by  a  second. 

"That  poacher's  gun?  —  no  doubt!"  —  he  strained 
his  eyes  in  vain  —  "  Collision  perhaps  —  and  mischief? 
No  matter !  I  have  nothing  to  do  with  it.  The  world 
is  all  lyric  for  me  to-night.  I  can  hear  in  it  no  other 
rhythm." 

The  night  passed  away.  When  the  winter  morning 
broke,  Marcella  was  lying  with  wide  sleepless  eyes, 
waiting  and  pining  for  it.  Her  candle  still  burnt 
beside  her;  she  had  had  no  courage  for  darkness,  nor 
the  smallest  desire  for  sleep.     She  had  gone  through 


380  MARCELLA. 

shame  and  anguish.  But  she  would  have  scorned  to 
pity  herself.  Was  it  not  her  natural,  inevitable  por- 
tion? 

"I  will  tell  Aldous  everything  —  everythiyig,"  she 
said  to  herself  for  the  hundredth  time,  as  the  light 
penetrated.  "Was  that  only  seven  striking  —  seven 
—  impossible !  " 

She  sat  up  haggard  and  restless,  hardly  able  to  bear 
the  thought  of  the  hours  that  must  pass  before  she 
could  see  Aldous  —  put  all  to  the  touch. 

Suddenly  she  remembered  Hurd  —  then  old  Patton. 

"He  was  dying  last  night,"  she  thought,  in  her 
moral  torment  —  her  passion  to  get  away  from  her- 
self. "Is  he  gone?  This  is  the  hour  when  old 
people  die  —  the  dawn.  I  will  go  and  see  —  go  at 
once." 

She  sprang  up.  To  baffle  this  ache  within  her  by 
some  act  of  repentance,  of  social  amends,  however 
small,  however  futile  —  to  propitiate  herself,  if  but  by 
a  hairbreadth  —  this,  no  doubt,  Avas  the  instinct  at 
work.  She  dressed  hastily,  glad  of  the  cold,  glad  of 
the  effort  she  had  to  make  against  the  stiffness  of  her 
own  young  bones  —  glad  of  her  hunger  and  f aintness, 
of  everything  physically  hard  that  had  to  be  fought 
and  conc[uered. 

In  a  very  short  time  she  had  passed  quietly  down- 
stairs and  through  the  hall,  greatly  to  the  amazement 
of  William,  who  opened  the  front  door  for  her.  Once 
in  the  village  road  the  damp  raw  air  revived  her 
greatly.  She  lifted  her  hot  temples  to  it,  welcoming 
the  waves  of  wet  mist  that  swept  along  the  road,  feel- 
ing her  youth  come  back  to  her. 


MARC  ELL  A.  381 

Suddenly  as  she  was  nearing  the  end  of  a  narrow 
bit  of  lane  between  high  hedges,  and  the  first  houses 
of  the  village  were  in  sight,  she  was  stopped  by  a 
noise  behind  her  —  a  strange  unaccountable  noise  as 
of  women's  voices,  calling  and  wailing.  It  startled 
and  frightened  her,  and  she  stood  in  the  middle  of  the 
road  waiting. 

Then  she  saAv  coming  towards  her  two  women  run- 
ning at  full  speed,  crying  and  shouting,  their  aprons 
up  to  their  faces. 

"What  is  it?  What  is  the  matter?"  she  asked, 
going  to  meet  them,  and  recognising  two  labourers' 
wives  she  knew. 

"Oh I  miss  —  oh!  miss!"  said  the  foremost,  too 
wrapt  up  in  her  news  to  be  surprised  at  the  sight  of 
her.  "They've  just  found  him  —  they're  bringin'  ov 
'im  home;  they've  got  a  shutter  from  Muster  W^ellin! 
'im  at  Disley  Farm.  It  wor  close  by  Disley  wood 
they  found  'em.  And  there's  one  ov  'is  men  they've 
sent  off  ridin'  for  the  inspector  —  here  he  come,  miss! 
Come  out  o'  th'  way!  " 

They  dragged  her  back,  and  a  young  labourer  gal- 
loped past  them  on  a  farm  colt,  urging  it  on  to  its  full 
pace,  his  face  red  and  set. 

"Who  is  found?  "  cried  Marcella  —  "What  is  it?  " 

"  Westall,  miss  —  Lor'  bless  you  —  Shot  him  in  the 
head  they  did  —  blowed  his  brains  right  out  —  and 
Charlie  Dynes  —  oh!  he's  knocked  about  shamful  — 
the  doctor  don't  give  no  hopes  of  him.  Oh  deary  — 
deary  me !  And  we're  goin'  for  Muster  Harden  —  ee 
must  tell  the  widder  —  or  ]\liss  Mary  —  none  on  us 
can!" 


382  MARCELLA. 

"And  who  did  it?  "  said  Marcella,  pale  with  horror, 
holding  her. 

"  Why  the  poachers,  miss.  Them  as  they've  bin 
waitin'  for  all  along  —  and  they  do  say  as  Jim  Hurd  's 
in  it.     Oh  Lord,  oh  Lord !  " 

Marcella  stood  petrified,  and  let  them  hurry  on. 


CHAPTER   IX. 

The  lane  was  still  again,  save  for  the  unwonted 
sounds  coming  from  the  groups  which  had  gathered 
round  the  two  women,  and  were  now  moving  beside 
them  along  the  village  street  a  hundred  yards  ahead. 

Marcella  stood  in  a  horror  of  memory  —  seeing 
Kurd's  figure  cross  the  moonlit  avenue  from  dark  to 
dark.  Where  was  he  ?  Had  he  escaped  ?  Suddenly 
she  set  off  running,  stung  by  the  thought  of  what 
might  have  already  happened  under  the  eyes  of  that 
unhappy  wife,  those  wretched  children. 

As  she  entered  the  village,  a  young  fellow  ran  up 
to  her  in  breathless  excitement.  "They've  got  'im, 
miss.  He'd  come  straight  home — 'adn't  made  no 
attempt  to  run.  As  soon  as  Jenkins  "  (Jenkins  was 
the  policeman)  "beared  of  it,  ee  went  straight  across 
to  'is  house,  an'  caught  'im.  Ee  wor  goin'  to  make  off 
—  'is  wife  'ad  been  persuadin'  ov  'im  all  night.  But 
they've  got  him,  miss,  sure  enough!" 

The  lad's  exultation  was  horrible.  Marcella  waved 
him  aside  and  ran  on.  A  man  on  horseback  appeared 
on  the  road  in  front  of  her  leading  from  Widrington 
to  the  village.  She  recognised  Aldous  Raeburn,  who 
had  checked  his  horse  in  sudden  amazement  as  he 
saw  her  talking  to  the  boy. 

"  My  darling !  what  are  you  here  for  ?  Oh !  go 
383  ^ 


384  MARCELLA, 

home  —  go  Jio^ne  I  —  out  of  this  horrible  business. 
They  have  sent  for  me  as  a  magistrate.  Dynes  is 
alive  —  I  heg  you!  —  go  home!  " 

She  shook  her  head,  out  of  breath  and  speechless 
with  running.  At  the  same  moment  she  and  he, 
looking  to  the  right,  caught  sight  of  the  crowd  stand- 
ing in  front  of  Hurd's  cottage. 

A  man  ran  out  from  it,  seeing  the  horse  and  its 
rider. 

"  Muster  Raeburn  !  Muster  Kaeburn  !  They've 
cotched  'im  ;  Jenkins  has  got  'im." 

"  Ah !  "  said  Aldous,  drawing  a  long,  stern  breath ; 
'•he  didn't  try  to  get  off  then?  Marcella! — ^you  are 
not  going  there  —  to  that  house!  " 

He  spoke  in  a  tone  of  the  strongest  remonstrance. 
Her  soul  rose  in  anger  against  it. 

"  I  am  going  to  /ier,"  she  said  panting  ;  —  "  don't 
wait." 

And  she  left  him  and  hurried  on. 

As  soon  as  the  crowd  round  the  cottage  saw  her 
coming,  they  divided  to  let  her  pass. 

"  She's  quiet  now,  miss,"  said  a  woman  to  her  sig- 
nificantly, nodding  towards  the  hovel.  "  Just  after 
Jenkins  got  in  you  could  hear  her  crying  out  pitiful." 

"  That  was  when  they  wor  a-handcuffin'  him,"  said 
a  man  beside  her. 

Marcella  shuddered. 

'^  Will  they  let  me  in?  "  she  asked. 

"  They  won't  let  none  ov  us  in,"  said  the  man. 
"  There's  Hurd's  sister,"  and  he  pointed  to  a  weeping 
woman  supported  by  two  others.  ''They've  kep'  her 
out.     But  here's  the  inspector,  miss  ;  you  ask  him." 


MARCELLA.  385 

The  inspector,  a  shrewd  officer  of  long  experience, 
fetched  in  haste  from  a  mile's  distance,  galloped  up, 
and  gave  his  horse  to  a  boy. 

Marcella  went  up  to  him. 

He  looked  at  her  with  sharp  interrogation.  "  You 
are  Miss  Boyce  ?     Miss  Boyce  of  Mellor  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  want  to  go  to  the  wife  ;  I  will  promise  not 
to  get  in  your  way." 

He  nodded.  The  crowd  let  them  pass.  The  in- 
spector knocked  at  the  door,  which  was  cautiously 
unlocked  by  Jenkins,  and  the  two  went  in  together. 

"  She's  a  queer  one,"  said  a  thin,  weasel-eyed  man 
in  the  crowd  to  his  neighbour.  ''  To  think  o'  her 
bein'  in  it  —  at  this  time  o'  day.  You  could  see 
Muster  Raeburn  was  a  tellin'  of  her  to  go  'ome.  But 
she's  alius  pampered  them  Hurds." 

The  speaker  was  Ned  Patton,  old  Patton's  son,  and 
Kurd's  companion  on  many  a  profitable  night-walk. 
It  was  barely  a  week  since  he  had  been  out  with 
Hurd  on  another  ferreting  expedition,  some  of  the 
proceeds  of  which  Avere  still  hidden  in  Patton's  out- 
house. But  at  the  present  moment  he  was  one  of  the 
keenest  of  the  crowd,  watching  eagerly  for  the  moment 
when  he  should  see  his  old  comrade  come  out,  trapped 
and  checkmated,  bound  safely  and  surely  to  the 
gallows.  The  natural  love  of  incident  and  change 
which  keeps  life  healthy  had  been  starved  in  him  by 
his  labourer's  condition.  This  sudden  excitement  had 
made  a  brute  of  him. 

The  man  next  him  grimaced,  and  took  his  i)ipe  out 
of  his  mouth  a  moment. 

"  She  won't  be  able  to  do  notliin'  for  'im !     Ther 


386  MARCELLA. 

isn't  a  man  nor  boy  in  this  'ere  place  as  didn't  know 
as  ee  hated  Westall  like  pison,  and  would  be  as  like  as 
not  to  do  for  'im  some  day.  That'll  count  agen  'im 
now  terrible  strong!    Ee  wor  alius  one  to  blab,  ee  wor.'^ 

"Well,  an'  Westall  said  jus'  as  much!"  struck  in 
another  voice ;  "  theer  wor  sure  to  be  a  fight  iv  ever 
Westall  got  at  'im  —  on  the  job.  You  see  —  they  may 
bring  it  in  manslarter  after  all." 

"  'Ow  does  any  one  know  ee  wor  there  at  all  ?  who 
seed  him  ? "  inquired  a  white-haired  elderly  man, 
raising  a  loud  quavering  voice  from  the  middle  of  the 
crowd. 

"  Charlie  Dynes  seed  'im,"  cried  several  together. 

"  How  do  yer  know  ee  seed  'im  ?  " 

From  the  babel  of  voices  which  followed  the  white- 
haired  man  slowly  gathered  the  beginnings  of  the  mat- 
ter. Charlie  Dynes,  Westall's  assistant,  had  been  first 
discovered  by  a  horsekeeper  in  Farmer  Wellin's  em- 
ployment as  he  was  going  to  his  work.  The  lad  had 
been  found  under  a  hedge,  bleeding  and  frightfully 
injured,  but  still  alive.  Close  beside  him  was  the 
dead  body  of  Westall  with  shot-wounds  in  the  head. 
On  being  taken  to  the  farm  and  given  brandy,  Dynes 
was  asked  if  he  had  recognised  anybody.  He  had 
said  there  were  five  of  them,  "  town  chaps  "  ;  and  then 
he  had  named  Hurd  quite  plainly  —  whether  anybody 
else,  nobody  knew.  It  was  said  he  would  die,  and 
that  INIr.  Eaeburn  liad  gone  to  take  his  deposition. 

"  An'  them  town  chaps  got  otf ,  eh  ?  "  said  tlie  elderly 
man. 

''Clean!"  said  Patton.  lefiUing  his  pipe.  ''Trust 
them ! " 


MARCELLA.  387 

Meanwhile,  inside  this  poor  cottage  Marcella  was 
putting  out  all  the  powers  of  the  soul.  As  the  door 
closed  behind  her  and  the  inspector,  she  saw  Hurd  sit- 
ting handcuffed  in  the  middle  of  the  kitchen,  watched 
by  a  man  whom  Jenkins,  the  local  policeman,  had  got 
in  to  help  him,  till  some  more  police  should  arrive. 
Jenkins  was  now  upstairs  searching  the  bedroom. 
The  little  bronchitic  boy  sat  on  the  fender,  in  front  of 
the  untidy  fireless  grate,  shivering,  his  emaciated  face 
like  a  yellowish  white  mask,  his  eyes  fixed  immovably 
on  his  father.  Every  now  and  then  he  Avas  shaken 
with  coughing,  but  still  he  looked  —  with  the  dumb 
devoted  attention  of  some  watching  animal. 

Hurd,  too,  was  sitting  silent.  His  eyes,  which 
seemed  wider  open  and  more  brilliant  than  usual, 
wandered  restlessly  from  thing  to  thing  about  the 
room;  his  great  earth-stained  hands  in  their  fetters 
twitched  every  now  and  then  on  his  knee.  Haggard 
and  dirty  as  he  was,  there  was  a  certain  aloofness,  a 
dignity  even,  about  the  misshapen  figure  which  struck 
Marcella  strange I3'.  Both  criminal  and  victim  may 
have  it  —  this  dignity.  It  means  that  a  man  feels 
himself  set  apart  from  his  kind. 

Hurd  started  at  sight  of  Marcella.  "  I  want  to 
speak  to  her,"  he  said  hoarsely,  as  the  inspector 
approached  him  —  " to  that  lady"  —  nodding  towards 
her. 

'•Very  well,"  said  the  inspector;  ''only  it  is  my 
duty  to  warn  you  that  anything  you  say  now  will  be 
taken  down  and  used  as  evidence  at  the  inquest." 

Marcella  came  near.  As  she  stood  in  front  of  him. 
one  treml)ling  ungloved  hand  crossed  over  the  other, 


388  MARCELLA. 

the  diamond  in  lier  engagement  ring  catching  the  light 
from  the  window  sparkled  brightly,  diverting  even  for 
the  moment  the  eyes  of  the  little  fellow  against  whom 
her  skirts  were  brushing. 

"Ee  might  ha'  killed  me  just  as  well  as  I  killed 
'im/'  said  Hurd,  bending  over  to  her  and  speaking 
with  difficulty  from  the  dryness  of  his  mouth.  "  I 
didn't  mean  nothink  o'  what  happened.  He  and 
Charlie  came  on  us  round  Disley  Wood.  He  didn't 
take  no  notice  o'  them.  It  was  they  as  beat  Charlie. 
But  he  came  straight  on  at  me  —  all  in  a  fury  —  a 
blackguardin'  ov  me^  with  his  stick  up.  I  thought  he 
was  for  beatin'  my  brains  out,  an'  I  up  with  my  gun 
and  fired.  He  was  so  close  —  that  was  how  he  got  it 
all  in  the  head.  But  ee  might  'a'  killed  me  just  as 
well." 

He  paused,  staring  at  her  with  a  certain  anguished 
intensity,  as  though  he  were  watching  to  see  how  she 
took  it  —  nay,  trying  its  effect  both  on  her  and  him- 
self. He  did  not  look  afraid  or  cast  down  —  nay, 
there  was  a  curious  buoyancy  and  steadiness  about  his 
manner  for  the  moment  which  astonished  her.  She 
could  almost  have  fancied  that  he  was  more  alive, 
more  of  a  man  than  she  had  ever  seen  him  —  mind 
and  body  better  fused,  more  at  command, 

"  Is  there  anything  more  you  wish  to  say  to  me  ?  " 
she  asked  him,  after  waiting. 

Then  suddenly  his  manner  changed.  Their  eyes 
met.  Hers,  Avith  all  their  subtle  inheritance  of  vari- 
ous expression,  their  realised  character,  as  it  were, 
searched  his,  tried  to  understand  them  — those  peasant 
eyes,  so  piercing  to  her  strained  sense  in  their  animal 


MARCELLA.  389 

urgenc}^  and  sliame.  Why  had  lie  done  this  awful 
thing  ?  —  deceived  her  —  wrecked  his  wife  ?  —  that 
was  what  her  look  asked.  It  seemed  to  her  too 
childish  —  too  stupid  to  be  believed. 

"I  haven't  made  nobbut  a  poor  return  to  you,  miss," 
he  said  in  a  shambling  way,  as  though  the  words  were 
dragged  out  of  him.  Then  he  threw  up  his  head 
again.  "  But  I  didn't  mean  nothiuk  o'  what  hap- 
pened," he  repeated,  doggedly  going  off  again  into  a 
rapid  yet,  on  the  whole,  vivid  and  consecutive  account 
of  Westall's  attack,  to  which  Marcella  listened,  try- 
ing to  remember  every  word. 

''  Keep  that  for  your  solicitor,"  the  inspector  said  at 
last,  interrupting  him ;  "  you  are  only  giving  pain  to 
Miss  Boyce.     You  had  better  let  her  go  to  your  wife." 

Hurd  looked  steadily  once  more  at  Marcella.  "  It 
be  a  bad  end  I'm  come  to,"  he  said,  after  a  moment. 
"  But  I  thank  you  kindly  all  the  same.  They^ll  want 
seein'  after."  He  jerked  his  head  towards  the  boy, 
then  towards  the  outhouse  or  scullery  where  his  wife 
was.  '•  She  takes  it  terr'ble  hard.  She  wanted  me  to 
run.  But  I  said,  ^  No,  I'll  stan'  it  out.'  Mr.  Brown 
at  the  Court  '11  give  you  the  bit  wages  he  owes  me. 
But  they'll  have  to  go  on  the  Union.  Everybody  '11 
turn  their  backs  on  them  now." 

''  I  will  look  after  them,"  said  Marcella,  "  and  I 
will  do  the  best  I  can  for  you.  Now  I  will  go  to  Mrs. 
Hurd." 

Minta  Hurd  was  sitting  in  a  corner  of  the  outhouse 
on  the  clay  floor,  her  head  leaning  against  the  wall. 
The  face  was  turned  upward,  the  eyes  shut,  the  mouth 
helplessly  open.     When  Marcella  saw  her,  she  knew 


390  MARCELLA. 

that  the  unhappy  woman  had  already  wept  so  much 
in  the  hours  since  lier  husband  came  back  to  her  that 
she  coukl  weep  no  more.  The  two  little  girls  in  the 
scantiest  of  clothing,  half-fastened,  sat  on  the  floor 
beside  her,  shivering  and  begrimed  —  watching  her. 
They  had  been  crying  at  the  tops  of  their  voices,  but 
were  now  only  whimpering  miserably,  and  trying  at 
intervals  to  dry  their  tear-stained  cheeks  with  the 
skirts  of  their  frocks.  The  baby,  wrapped  in  an  old 
shawl,  lay  on  its  mother's  knee,  asleep  and  unheeded. 
The  little  lean-to  place,  full  of  odds  and  ends  of  rub- 
bish, and  darkened  overhead  by  a  string  of  damp 
clothes  —  was  intolerably  cold  in  the  damp  February 
dawn.  The  children  were  blue ;  the  mother  felt  like 
ice  as  Marcella  stooped  to  touch  her.  Outcast  misery 
could  go  no  further. 

The  mother  moaned  as  she  felt  Marcella's  hand,  then 
started  wildly  forward,  straining  her  thin  neck  and 
swollen  eyes  that  she  might  see  through  the  two  open 
doors  of  the  kitchen  and  the  outhouse. 

"  They're  not  taking  him  away  ?  "  she  said  fiercely. 
"  Jenkins  swore  to  me  they'd  give  me  notice." 

''  Xo,  he's  still  there,"  said  Marcella,  her  voice  shak- 
ing.    "  The  inspector 's  come.     You  shall  have  notice." 

Mrs.  Hurd  recognised  her  voice,  and  looked  up  at 
her  in  amazement. 

"  You  must  put  this  on,"  said  Marcella,  taking  off 
the  short  fur  cape  she  wore.  ''  You  are  perished. 
Give  me  the  baby,  and  wrap  yourself  in  it." 

But  Mrs.  Hurd  put  it  away  from  her  with  a  vehe- 
ment hand. 

"I'm  not  cold,  miss  —  I'm  barniniJ-  hot.     He  made 


MABCELLA.  391 

me  come  in  here.  He  said  he'd  do  better  if  the  chil- 
dren and  I  ud  go  away  a  bit.  An'  I  couldn't  go  upstairs, 
because  —  because  —  "  she  hid  her  face  on  her  knees. 

Marcella  had  a  sudden  sick  vision  of  the  horrors 
this  poor  creature  nmst  have  gone  through  since  her 
husband  had  appeared  to  her,  splashed  with  the  blood 
of  his  enemy,  under  that  same  marvellous  moon 
which  — 

Her  mind  repelled  its  own  memories  with  haste. 
Moreover,  she  was  aware  of  the  inspector  standing 
at  the  kitchen  door  and  beckoning  to  her.  She  stole 
across  to  him  so  softly  that  Mrs.  Hurd  did  not  hear 
her. 

'^  We  have  found  all  we  want,"  he  said  in  his  official 
tone,  but  under  his  breath  —  '•  the  clothes  anyway. 
We  must  now  look  for  the  gun.  Jenkins  is  first  going 
to  take  him  off  to  Widrington.  The  inquest  will  be 
held  to-morrow  here,  at  '  The  Green  IMan.'  We  shall 
bring  him  over."  Then  he  added  in  another  voice, 
touching  his  hat,  '•  I  don't  like  leaving  you,  miss,  in 
this  place.  Shall  Jenkins  go  and  fetch  somebody  to 
look  after  that  poor  thing  ?  They'll  be  all  swarming 
in  here  as  soon  as  we've  gone." 

"No,  I'll  stay  for  a  while.  I'll  look  after  her. 
They  won't  come  in  if  I'm  here.  Except  his  sister  — 
Mrs.  Mnllins  —  she  may  come  in,  of  course,  if  she 
wants." 

The  inspector  hesitated. 

"I'm  going  now  to  meet  Mr.  Raeburn,  miss.  I'll 
tell  him  that  you're  here." 

"  He  knows,"  said  Marcella,  briefly.  "  Now  are  you 
ready  ? " 


392  MAP^CELLA. 

He  signed  assent,  and  Marcella  went  back  to  the 
wife. 

"  Mrs.  Hurd/'  she  said,  kneeling  on  the  ground  be- 
side her,  ''they're  going." 

The  wife  sprang  up  with  a  cry  and  ran  into  the 
kitchen,  where  Hurd  was  already  on  his  feet  between 
Jenkins  and  another  policeman,  who  were  to  convey 
him  to  the  gaol  at  Widrington.  But  when  she  came 
face  to  face  with  her  husband  something  —  perhaps 
the  nervous  appeal  in  his  strained  eyes  —  checked  her, 
and  she  controlled  herself  piteously.  She  did  not  even 
attempt  to  kiss  him.  With  her  eyes  on  the  ground, 
she  put  her  hand  on  his  arm.  "  They'll  let  me  come 
and  see  you,  Jim  ?  "  she  said,  trembling. 

"  Yes  ;  you  can  find  out  the  rules,"  he  said  shortly. 
"  Don't  let  them  children  cry.  They  want  their  break- 
fast to  warm  them.  There's  plenty  of  coal.  I  brought 
a  sack  home  from  Jellaby's  last  night  myself.  Good- 
bye." 

"jSTow,  march,"  said  the  inspector,  sternly,  pushing 
the  wife  back. 

Marcella  put  her  arm  round  the  shaking  woman. 
The  door  opened ;  and  beyond  the  three  figures  as  they 
passed  out,  her  eye  passed  to  the  waiting  crowd,  then 
to  the  misty  expanse  of  common  and  the  dark  woods 
behind,  still  wrapped  in  fog. 

When  Mrs.  Hurd  saw  the  rows  of  people  waiting 
within  a  stone's  throw  of  the  door  she  shrank  back. 
Perhaps  it  struck  her,  as  it  struck  Marcella,  that  every 
face  was  the  face  of  a  foe.  Marcella  ran  to  the  door 
a;S  the  inspector  stepped  out,  and  locked  it  after  him. 
Mrs.  Hurd,  hiding  herself  behind  a  bit  of  baize  cur- 


21  ABC  EL  LA.  393 

tain,  watched  the  two  policemen  mount  with  Hurd 
into  the  fly  that  was  waiting,  and  then  followed  it 
with  her  eyes  along  the  bit  of  straight  road,  uttering 
sounds  the  while  of  low  anguish,  which  wrung  the 
heart  in  Marcella's  breast.  Looking  back  in  after 
days  it  always  seemed  to  her  that  for  this  poor  soul 
the  true  parting,  the  true  wrench  between  life  and 
life,  came  at  this  moment. 

She  went  up  to  her,  her  own  tears  running  over. 

"You  must  come  and  lie  down,"  she  said,  recovering 
herself  as  quickl}^  as  possible.  "  You  and  the  children 
are  both  starved,  and  you  will  want  your  strength  if 
you  are  to  help  him.     I  will  see  to  things." 

She  put  the  helpless  woman  on  the  wooden  settle  by 
the  fireplace,  rolling  up  her  cloak  to  make  a  pillow. 

''Xow,  Willie,  you  sit  by  your  mother.  Daisy, 
where's  the  cradle  ?  Put  the  baby  down  and  come 
and  help  me  make  the  fire." 

The  dazed  children  did  exactly  as  they  were  told, 
and  the  mother  lay  like  a  log  on  the  settle.  Marcella 
found  coal  and  Avood  under  Daisy's  guidance,  and  soon 
lit  the  fire,  piling  on  the  fuel  with  a  lavish  hand. 
Daisy  brought  her  water,  and  she  filled  the  kettle  and 
set  it  on  to  boil,  while  the  little  girl,  still  sobbing  at 
intervals  like  some  little  weeping  automaton,  laid  the 
breakfast.  Then  the  children  all  crouched  round  the 
warmth,  while  Marcella  rubbed  their  cold  hands  and 
feet,  and  "mothered"  them.  Shaken  as  she  was  with 
emotion  and  horror,  she  was  yet  full  of  a  passionate 
joy  that  this  pity,  this  tendance  was  allowed  to  her. 
The  crushing  weight  of  self-contempt  had  lifted.  She 
felt  morally  free  and  at  ease. 


394  MAR  CELL  A. 

Already  she  was  revolving  what  she  could  do  for 
Hurd.  It  was  as  clear  as  daylight  to  her  that  there 
liad  been  no  murder  but  a  free  fight  —  an  even  chance 
between  him  and  Westall.  The  violence  of  a  hard  and 
tyrannous  man  had  provoked  his  own  destruction  — 
so  it  stood,  for  her  passionate  protesting  sense.  That 
at  any  rate  must  be  the  defence,  and  some  able  man 
must  be  found  to  press  it.  She  thought  she  would 
wa'ite  to  the  Cravens  and  consult  them.  Her  thoughts 
carefully  avoided  the  names  both  of  Aldous  Eaebum 
and  of  Wharton. 

She  was  about  to  make  the  tea  when  some  one 
knocked  at  the  door.  It  proved  to  be  Kurd's  sister,  a 
helpless  woman,  with  a  face  swollen  by  crying,  who 
seemed  to  be  afraid  to  come  into  the  cottage,  and  afraid 
to  go  near  her  sister-in-law.  Marcella  gave  her  money, 
and  sent  her  for  some  eggs  to  the  neighbouring  shop, 
then  told  her  to  come  back  in  half  an  hour  and  take 
charge.  She  was  an  incapable,  but  there  was  nothing 
better  to  be  done.  '•'  Where  is  Miss  Harden  ?  "  she 
asked  the  Avoman.  The  answer  was  that  ever  since 
the  news  came  to  the  village  the  rector  and  his  sister 
had  been  with  Mrs.  Westall  and  Charlie  Dyne's  mother. 
Mrs.  Westall  had  gone  into  fit  after  fit ;  it  had  taken 
two  to  hold  her,  and  Charlie's  mother,  who  was  in  bed 
recovering  from  pneumonia,  had  also  been  very  bad. 

Again  Marcella' s  heart  contracted  with  rage  rather 
than  pity.  Such  wrack  and  waste  of  human  life,  moral 
and  physical !  for  what  ?  For  the  protection  of  a  hate- 
ful sport  which  demoralised  the  rich  and  their  agents, 
no  less  than  it  tempted  and  provoked  the  poor! 

When  she  had  fed    and    physically  comforted   the 


MABCELLA.  395 

children,  she  went  and  knelt  down  beside  Mrs.  Hurd, 
who  still  lay  Avith  closed  eyes  in  heavy-breathing 
stupor. 

'^  Dear  Mrs.  Hurd,"  she  said,  "I  want  you  to  drink 
this  tea  and  eat  something.'' 

The  half-stupefied  woman  signed  refusal.  But  ]\Iar- 
cella  insisted. 

''You  have  got  to  fight  for  3-our  husband's  life," 
she  said  firmly,  "  and  to  look  after  your  children.  I 
must  go  in  a  very  short  time,  and  before  I  go  you 
must  tell  me  all  that  you  can  of  this  business.  Hurd 
would  tell  you  to  do  it.  He  knows  and  you  know 
that  I  am  to  be  trusted.  I  want  to  save  him.  I  shall 
get  a  good  lawyer  to  help  him.  But  first  you  must 
take  this  —  and  then  you  must  talk  to  me." 

The  habit  of  obedience  to  a  "lady,"  established 
long  ago  in  j-ears  of  domestic  service,  held.  The 
miserable  wife  submitted  to  be  fed,  looked  with  for- 
lorn wonder  at  the  children  round  the  fire,  and  then 
sank  back  with  a  groan.  In  her  tension  of  feeling 
Marcella  for  an  impatient  moment  thought  her  a  poor 
creature.  Then  with  quick  remorse  she  put  her  arms 
tenderly  round  her,  raised  the  dishevelled  grey- 
streaked  head  on  her  shoulder,  and  stooping,  kissed 
the  marred  face,  her  own  lips  quivering. 

"  You  are  not  alone,"  saixl  the  girl  with  her  whole 
soul.  '•  You  shall  never  be  alone  while  I  live.  Now 
tell  me." 

She  made  the  white  and  gasping  woman  sit  up  in  a 
corner  of  the  settle,  and  she  herself  got  a  stool  and 
established  herself  a  little  way  off,  frowning,  self- 
contained,  and  determined  to  make  out  the  truth. 


396  MARCELLA. 

"  Shall  I  send  the  cliildren  upstairs  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Ko ! "  said  the  boy,  suddenly,  in  his  husky  voice, 
shaking  his  head  with  energy,  "  I'm  not  a-going." 

"  Oh  !  he's  safe  —  is  Willie,"  said  Mrs.  Hurd,  look- 
ing at  him,  but  strangely,  and  as  it  Avere  from  a  long 
distance,  '•  and  the  others  is  too  little." 

Then  gradually  Marcella  got  the  story  out  of  her  — 
first,  the  misery  of  alarm  and  anxiety  in  which  she 
had  lived  ever  since  the  Tudley  End  raid,  owing  first 
to  her  knowledge  of  Kurd's  connection  with  it,  and 
with  the  gang  that  had  carried  it  out ;  then  to  her 
appreciation  of  the  quick  and  ghastly  growth  of  the 
hatred  between  him  and  Westall ;  lastly,  to  her  sense 
of  ingratitude  towards  those  who  had  been  kind  to 
them. 

"  I  knew  we  was  acting  bad  towards  you.  I  told 
Jim  so.  I  couldn't  hardly  bear  to  see  you  come  in. 
But  there,  miss,  —  I  couldn't  do  anything.  I  tried, 
oh !  the  Lord  knows  I  tried  !  There  was  never  no 
happiness  between  us  at  last,  I  talked  so.  But  I  don't 
believe  he  could  help  himself  —  he's  not  made  like 
other  folks,  isn't  Jim  —  " 

Her  features  became  convulsed  again  with  the 
struggle  for  speech.  Marcella  reached  out  for  the 
toil-disligured  hand  that  was  fingering  and  clutching 
at  the  edge  of  the  settle,  and  held  it  close.  Gradually 
she  made  out  that  although  Hurd  had  not  been  able  of 
course  to  conceal  his  night  absences  from  his  wife,  he 
had  kept  his  connection  with  the  Oxford  gang  abso- 
lutely dark  from  her,  till,  in  his  wild  exultation  over 
Westall's  discomfiture  in  the  Tudley  End  raid,  he  had 
said  things   in  his  restless   snatches  of  sleep  which 


3fARCELLA.  397 

had  enabled  her  to  get  the  whole  truth  out  of  him 
by  degrees.  Her  reproaches,  her  fears,  had  merely 
angered  and  estranged  him ;  her  nature  had  had  some- 
how to  accommodate  itself  to  his,  lest  affection  should 
lose  its  miserable  all. 

As  to  this  last  fatal  attack  on  the  Maxwell  coverts, 
it  was  clear  to  Marcella,  as  she  questioned  and  listened, 
that  the  wife  had  long  foreseen  it,  and  that  she  now 
knew  much  more  about  it  than —  suddenly — she  would 
allow  herself  to  say.  For  in  the  midst  of  her  out- 
pourings she  drew  herself  together,  tried  to  collect 
and  calm  herself,  looked  at  Marcella  with  an  agonised, 
suspicious  eye,  and  fell  silent. 

"I  don't  know  nothing  about  it,  miss,"  she  stub- 
bornly declared  at  last,  with  an  inconsequent  absurdity 
which  smote  Marcella's  pity  afresh.  '-'How  am  I  to 
know  ?  There  was  seven  o'  them  Oxford  fellows  at 
Tudley  End  —  that  I  know.  Who's  to  say  as  Jim  was 
with  'em  at  all  last  night  ?  Who's  to  say  as  it  wasn't 
them  as  —  " 

She  stopped,  shivering.  Marcella  held  her  reluctant 
hand. 

"You  don't  know,"  she  said  quietly,  '-that  I  saw 
your  husband  in  here  for  a  minute  before  I  came  in 
to  you,  and  that  he  told  me,  as  he  had  already  told 
Jenkins,  that  it  was  in  a  struggle  with  him  that 
Westall  was  shot,  but  that  he  had  tired  in  self-defence 
because  Westall  was  attacking  him.  You  don't  know, 
too,  that  Charlie  Dynes  is  alive,  and  says  he  saw 
Kurd  —  " 

"  Charlie  Dynes  ! "  Mrs.  Hurd  gave  a  shriek,  and 
then  fell  to  weeping  and  trembling  again,  so  that 
Marcella  had  need  of  patience. 


398  MARCELLA. 

"If  you  can't  help  me  more,"  she  said  at  last  in 
despair,  ''  I  don't  know  what  we  shall  do.  Listen  to 
me.  Your  husband  will  be  charged  with  AVestall's 
murder.  That  I  am  sure  of.  He  says  it  was  not 
murder  —  that  it  happened  in  a  fight.  I  believe  it.  I 
want  to  get  a  lawyer  to  prove  it.  I  am  your  friend  — 
you  know  I  am.  But  if  you  are  not  going  to  help  me 
by  telling  me  what  you  know  of  last  night  I  may  as 
well  go  home  —  and  get  your  sister-in-law  to  look  after 
you  and  the  children." 

She  rose  as  she  spoke.     Mrs.  Hurd  clutched  at  her. 

"Oh,  my  God!"  she  said,  looking  straight  before 
her  vacantly  at  the  children,  who  at  once  began  to  cry 
again.  "  O/i,  my  God!  Look  here,  miss"  —  her  voice 
dropped,  her  swollen  eyes  fixed  themselves  on  Marcella 
—  the  words  came  out  in  a  low,  hurried  stream  —  "  It 
was  just  after  four  o'clock  I  heard  that  door  turn ;  I 
got  up  in  my  nightgown  and  ran  down,  and  there  was 
Jim.  •  Put  that  light  out,'  he  says  to  me,  sharp  like. 
'  Oh,  Jim,'  says  I,  '  wherever  have  you  been  ?  You'll 
be  the  death  o'  me  and  them  poor  children ! '  '  You 
go  to  bed,'  says  he  to  me,  'and  I'll  come  presently.' 
But  I  could  see  him,  'cos  of  the  moon,  almost  as  plain 
as  day,  an'  I  couldn't  take  my  eyes  off  him.  And  he 
went  about  the  kitchen  so  strange  like,  puttin'  down 
his  hat  and  takin'  it  up  again,  an'  I  saw  he  hadn't  got 
his  gun.  So  I  went  up  and  caught  holt  on  him.  An' 
he  gave  me  a  push  back.  '  Can't  you  let  me  alone  ?  ' 
he  says ;  'you'll  know  soon  enough.'  An'  then  I  looked 
at  my  sleeve  where  I'd  touched  him  —  oh,  my  God  ! 
my  God ! " 

Marcella,   white  to    the    lips    and    shuddering   too. 


MABCELLA.  399 

held  her  tight.  She  had  the  seeing  faculty  which 
goes  with  such  quick,  nervous  natures,  aud  she  saw 
the  scene  as  though  she  had  been  there  —  the  moon- 
lit cottage,  the  miserable  husband  and  wife,  the  life- 
blood  on  the  woman's  sleeve. 

Mrs.  Hurd  went  on  in  a  torrent  of  half-finished 
sentences  and  fragments  of  remembered  talk.  She 
told  her  husband's  story  of  the  encounter  with  the 
keepers  as  he  had  told  it  to  her,  of  course  with  ad- 
ditions and  modifications  already  struck  out  b}^  the 
agony  of  inventive  pain  ;  she  described  how  she  had 
made  him  take  his  blood-stained  clothes  and  hide  them 
in  a  hole  in  the  roof ;  then  how  she  had  urged  him 
to  strike  across  country  at  once  and  get  a  few  hours 
start  before  the  ghastly  business  was  known.  But 
the  more  he  talked  to  her  the  more  confident  he  be- 
came of  his  own  story,  and  the  more  determined  to 
stay  and  brave  it  out.  Besides,  he  was  shrewd  enough 
to  see  that  escape  for  a  man  of  his  deformity  was  im- 
possible, and  he  tried  to  make  her  understand  it  so. 
But  she  was  mad  and  blind  with  fear,  and  at  last,  just 
as  the  light  was  coming  in,  he  told  her  roughly,  to 
end  their  long  wrestle,  that  he  should  go  to  bed  and 
get  some  sleep.  She  would  make  a  fool  of  him,  and 
he  should  want  all  his  wits.  She  followed  him  up 
the  steep  ladder  to  their  room,  weeping.  And  there 
was  little  Willie  sitting  up  in  bed,  choking  with  the 
phlegm  in  his  throat,  and  half  dead  of  fright  because 
of  the  voices  l)elow. 

'•And  when  Hurd  see  him,  he  went  and  cuddled 
him  up,  and  rubbed  his  legs  and  feet  to  warm  them, 
an'  I  could  hear  him  groanin'.     And  I  says  to  him. 


400  MABCELLA. 

'Jim,  if  you  won't  go  for  my  sake,  will  you  go  for 
the  boy's  ? '  For  you  see,  miss,  there  was  a  bit  of 
money  in  the  house,  an'  I  thought  he'd  hide  himself 
by  day  and  walk  by  night,  and  so  get  to  Liverpool 
perhaps,  and  off  to  the  States.  An'  it  seemed  as 
though  my  head  would  burst  with  listening  for  people 
comin',  and  him  taken  up  there  like  a  rat  in  a  trap,  an' 
no  way  of  provin'  the  truth,  and  everybody  agen  him, 
because  of  the  things  he'd  said.  And  he  burst  out 
a-cryin',  an'  Willie  cried.  An'  I  came  an'  entreated  of 
him.  An'  he  kissed  me ;  an'  at  last  he  said  he'd  go. 
An'  I  made  haste,  the  light  was  getting  so  terrible 
strong  ;  an'  just  as  he'd  got  to  the  foot  of  the  stairs, 
an'  I  was  holding  little  Willie  in  my  arms  an'  saying 
good-bye  to  him  —  " 

She  let  her  head  sink  against  the  settle.  There 
was  no  more  to  say,  and  Marcella  asked  no  more 
questions  —  she  sat  thinking.  Willie  stood,  a  wasted, 
worn  figure,  by  his  mother,  stroking  her  face ;  his 
hoarse  breathing  was  for  the  time  the  only  sound  in 
the  cottage. 

Then  Marcella  heard  a  loud  knock  at  the  door. 
She  got  up  and  looked  through  the  casement  window. 
The  crowd  had  mostly  dispersed,  but  a  few  people 
stood  about  on  the  green,  and  a  policeman  was  sta- 
tioned outside  the  cottage.  On  the  steps  stood  Aldous 
Eaeburn,  his  horse  held  behind  him  by  a  boy. 

She  went  and  opened  the  door. 

"  I  will  come,"  she  said  at  once.  "  There  —  I  see 
Mrs.  Mullins  crossing  the  common.  !N^ow  I  can  leave 
her." 

Aldous,  taking  off  his  hat,  closed  the  door  behind 


MABCELLA.  401 

him,  and  stood  with  his  hand  on  ^Marcella's  arm,  look- 
ing at  the  huddled  woman  on  the  settle,  at  the  pale 
children.  There  was  a  solemnity  in  his  expression, 
a  mixture  of  judgment  and  pity  wldch  showed  that 
the  emotion  of  other  scenes  also  —  scenes  through 
which  he  had  just  passed  — was  entering  into  it. 

''Poor  unhappy  souls,"  he  said  slowly,  under  his 
breath.  "  You  say  that  you  have  got  some  one  to 
see  after  her.  She  looks  as  though  it  might  kill  her, 
too." 

jNIarcella  nodded.  Xow  that  her  task,  for  the 
moment,  was  nearly  over,  she  could  hardly  restrain 
herself  nervously  or  keep  herself  from  crying.  Aldous 
observed  her  with  disquiet  as  she  put  on  her  hat. 
His  heart  was  deeply  stirred.  She  had  chosen  more 
nobly  for  herself  than  he  would  have  chosen  for  her, 
in  thus  daring  an  awful  experience  for  the  sake  of 
mercy.  His  moral  sense,  exalted  and  awed  by  the 
sight  of  death,  approved,  worshipped  her.  His  man's 
impatience  i:>ined  to  get  her  away,  to  cherish  and  com- 
fort her.  Why,  she  could  hardly  have  slept  three 
hours  since  they  parted  on  the  steps  of  the  Court, 
amidst  the  crowd  of  carriages ! 

Mrs.  ^lullins  came  in  still  scared  and  weeping,  and 
dropping  frightened  curtseys  to  "Muster  Raeburn." 
Marcella  spoke  to  her  a  little  in  a  whisper,  gave  some 
counsels  which  filled  Aldous  with  admiration  for  the 
girl's  practical  sense  and  thoughtfulness,  and  promised 
to  come  again  later.  jNIrs.  Hurd  neither  moved  nor 
opened  her  eyes. 

"  Can  you  walk  ?  "  said  Aldous,  bending  over  her, 
as  they  stood  outside  the  cottage.     "  I  can  see  that 

VOL.  I.  — 26 


402  MARCELLA. 

you  are  worn  out.  Could  you  sit  my  horse  if  I  led 
him  ?  " 

"  'No,  let  us  walk." 

They  went  on  together,  followed  by  the  eyes  of 
the  village,  the  boy  leading  the  horse  some  distance 
behind. 

"  Where  have  you  been  ?  "  said  Marcella,  when  they 
had  passed  the  village.  "  Oh,  2:)lease  don't  think  of 
my  being  tired !  I  had  so  much  rather  know  it  all.  I 
must  know^  it  all." 

She  w^as  deathly  pale,  but  her  black  eyes  flashed 
impatience  and  excitement.  She  even  drew  her  hand 
out  of  the  arm  where  Aldous  was  tenderly  holding  it, 
and  walked  on  erect  by  herself. 

"  I  have  been  with  poor  Dynes,"  said  Aldous,  sadly ; 
"  we  had  to  take  his  deposition.  He  died  while  I  was 
there." 

"  He  died  ?  " 

"  Yes.  The  fiends  who  killed  him  had  left  small 
doubt  of  that.  But  he  lived  long  enough,  thank  God, 
to  give  the  information  which  will,  I  think,  bring  them 
to  justice  I  " 

The  tone  of  the  magistrate  and  the  magnate  goaded 
Marcella's  quivering  nerves. 

''What  is  justice?"  she  cried;  "the  system  that 
wastes  human  lives  in  protecting  your  tame  pheas- 
ants ?  " 

A  cloud  came  over  the  stern  clearness  of  his  look. 
He  gave  a  bitter  sigh  —  the  sigh  of  the  man  to  whom 
his  own  position  in  life  had  been,  as  it  were,  one  long 
scruple. 

"  You  may  well  ask  that ! "  he  said.     "  You  cannot 


MAR  CELL  A.  403 

imagine  that  I  did  not  ask  it  of  myself  a  hundred 
times  as  I  stood  by  that  poor  fellow's  bedside." 

They  walked  on  in  silence.  She  was  hardly  ap- 
peased. There  was  a  deep,  inner  excitement  in  her 
urging  her  towards  difference,  towards  attack.  At 
last  he  resumed : 

''But  w^hatever  the  merits  of  our  present  game 
SA'stem  may  be,  the  present  case  is  surely  clear  — 
horribly  clear.  Six  men,  with  at  least  three  guns 
among  them,  probably  more,  go  out  on  a  pheasant- 
stealing  expedition.  They  come  across  two  keepers, 
one  a  lad  of  seventeen,  who  have  nothing  but  a  light 
stick  apiece.  The  boy  is  beaten  to  death,  the  keeper 
shot  dead  at  the  first  brush  by  a  man  who  has  been 
his  life-long  enemy,  and  threatened  several  times  in 
public  to  '  do  for  him.'  If  that  is  not  brutal  and  de- 
liberate murder,  it  is  difficult  to  say  what  is  ! " 

Marcella  stood  still  in  the  misty  road  trying  to 
command  herself. 

"  It  was  not  deliberate,"  she  said  at  last  with  diffi- 
cult}^ ;  "  not  in  Kurd's  case.  I  have  heard  it  all  from 
liis  own  mouth.  It  was  a  struggle  —  he  might  have 
been  killed  instead  of  Westall  —  Westall  attacked, 
Hurd  defended  himself." 

Aldous  shook  his  head. 

"Of  course  Hurd  would  tell  you  so,"  he  said  sadly, 
'-  and  his  poor  wife.  He  is  not  a  bad  or  vicious  fellow, 
like  the  rest  of  the  rascally  pack.  Probably  wlien  he 
came  to  himself,  after  the  moment  of  rage,  he  could 
not  simply  believe  what  he  had  done.  But  that 
makes  no  difference.  It  was  murder;  no  judge  (tr 
jury   could   possibly  take    any  other  view.     Dynes's 


404  MARCEL  LA. 

evidence  is  clear,  and  tlie  proof  of  motive  is  over- 
whelming." 

Then,  as  he  saw  her  pallor  and  trembling,  he  broke 
off  in  deep  distress.  "  My  dear  one,  if  I  could  but 
have  kept  you  out  of  this  !  " 

They  were  alone  in  the  misty  road.  The  boy  with 
the  horse  was  out  of  sight.  He  would  fain  have  put 
his  arm  round  her,  have  consoled  and  supported  her. 
But  she  would  not  let  him. 

"  Please  understand,"  she  said  in  a  sort  of  gasp,  as 
she  drew  herself  away,  "  that  I  do  not  believe  Hurd  is 
guilty  —  that  I  shall  do  my  very  utmost  to  defend  him. 
He  is  to  me  the  victim  of  unjust,  abominable  laws  ! 
If  you  will  not  help  me  to  protect  him  —  then  I  must 
look  to  some  one  else." 

Aldous  felt  a  sudden  stab  of  suspicion  —  presenti- 
ment. 

"  Of  course  he  will  be  well  defended ;  he  will  have 
every  chance ;  that  you  may  be  sure  of,"  he  said 
slowly. 

Marcella  controlled  herself,  and  they  walked  on.  As 
they  entered  the  drive  of  Mellor,  Aldous  thought  pas- 
sionately of  those  divine  moments  in  his  sitting-room, 
hardly  yet  nine  hours  old.  And  now  —  noiv  !  —  she 
Avalked  beside  him  as  an  enemy. 

The  sound  of  a  step  on  the  gravel  in  front  of  them 
made  them  look  up.  Past,  present,  and  future  met  in 
the  girl's  bewildered  and  stormy  sense  as  she  recog- 
nised Wharton. 


CHAPTER   X. 

The  lirst  sitting  of  the  Birmingliam  Labour  Con- 
gress was  just  over,  and  tlie  streets  about  the  hall  in 
which  it  had  been  held  were  beginning  to  fill  with 
the  issuing  delegates.  Rain  Avas  pouring  down  and 
umbrellas  were  plentiful. 

Harry  Wharton,  accompanied  by  a  group  of  men, 
left  the  main  entrance  of  the  hall, —  releasing  him- 
self with  difficulty  from  the  friendly  crowd  about  the 
doors  —  and  crossed  the  street  to  his  hotel. 

"Well,  I'm  glad  you  think  I  did  decently,"  he 
said,  as  they  mounted  the  hotel  stairs.  "What  a 
beastly  day,  and  how  stuffy  that  hall  was!  Come  in 
and  have  something  to  drink." 

He  threw  open  the  door  of  his  sitting-room  as  he 
spoke.     The  four  men  with  him  followed  him  in. 

"I  must  go  back  to  the  hall  to  see  two  or  three 
men  before  everybody  disperses,"  said  the  one  in 
front.  "No  refreshment  for  me,  thank  you,  Mr. 
Wharton.  But  I  want  to  ask  a  question  —  what 
arrangements  have  you  made  for  the  reporting  of 
your  speech?" 

The  man  who  spoke  was  thin  and  dark,  with  a 
modest  kindly  eye.  He  wore  a  black  frock  coat,  and 
had  the  air  of  a  minister. 

"  Oh,  thank  you,  Bennett,  it's  all  right.  The  Post, 
405 


406  MABCELLA. 

the  Chronicle,  and  the  Northern  Guardian  will  have 
full  copies.  I  sent  them  off  before  the  meeting. 
And  my  own  paper,  of  course.  As  to  the  rest  they 
may  report  it  as  they  like.     I  don't  care.'" 

"They'll  all  have  it,"  said  another  man,  bluntly. 
"  It's  the  best  speech  you've  ever  made  —  the  best 
president's  speech  we've  had  yet,  I  say, —  don't  you 
think  so?" 

The  speaker,  a  man  called  Casey,  turned  to  the  two 
men  behind  him.     Both  nodded. 

"Hallin's  speech  last  year  was  first-rate, "  he  con- 
tinued, "but  somehow  Hallin  damps  you  down,  at 
least  he  did  me  last  year;  what  you  want  just  now  is 
fight  —  and,  my  Avord !    Mr.  Wharton  let  'em  have  it !  " 

And  standing  with  his  hands  on  his  sides,  he 
glanced  round  from  one  to  another.  His  own  face 
was  flushed,  partly  from  the  effects  of  a  crowded  hall 
and  bad  air,  but  mostly  with  excitement.  All  the 
men  present  indeed  —  though  it  was  less  evident  in 
Bennett  and  Wharton  than  in  the  rest  —  had  the  bright 
nervous  look  which  belongs  to  leaders  keenly  con- 
scious of  standing  well  with  the  led,  and  of  having 
just  emerged  successfully  from  an  agitating  ordeal. 
As  they  stood  together  they  went  over  the  speech  to 
which  they  had  been  listening,  and  the  scene  which 
had  followed  it,  in  a  running  stream  of  talk,  laughter, 
and  gossip.  Wharton  took  little  part,  except  to  make 
a  joke  occasionally  at  his  own  expense,  but  the  pleas- 
ure on  his  smiling  lip,  and  in  his  roving,  contented 
eye  was  not  to  be  mistaken.  The  speech  he  had  just 
delivered  had  been  first  thought  out  as  he  paced  the 
moonlit  library  and  corridor  at  Mellor.     After  Mar- 


MARC  ELLA.  407 

cella  had  left  him,  and  he  was  once  more  in  his  own 
room,  he  had  had  the  extraordinary  self-control  to 
write  it  out,  and  make  two  or  tliree  machine -copies  of 
it  for  the  press.  Xeither  its  range  nor  its  logical 
order  had  suffered  for  that  intervening  experience. 
The  programme  of  labour  for  the  next  five  years  had 
never  been  better  presented,  more  boldly  planned, 
more  eloquently  justified.  Hallin's  presidential 
speech  of  the  year  before,  as  Casey  said,  rang  flat  in 
the  memory  when  compared  with  it.  Wharton  knew 
that  he  had  made  a  mark,  and  knew  also  that  his 
speech  had  given  him  the  whip-hand  of  some  fellows 
who  would  otherwise  have  stood  in  his  way. 

Casey  was  the  first  man  to  cease  talking  about  the 
speech.  He  had  already  betrayed  himself  about  it 
more  than  he  meant.  He  belonged  to  the  Xew 
Unionism,  and  affected  a  costume  in  character  — 
fustian  trousers,  flannel  shirt,  a  full  red  tie  and  work- 
man's coat,  all  well  calculated  to  set  off  a  fine  lion- 
like head  and  broad  shoulders.  He  had  begun  life  as 
a  bricklayer's  labourer,  and  was  now  the  secretary  of 
a  recently  formed  Union.  His  influence  had  been 
considerable,  but  was  said  to  be  already  on  the  wane; 
though  it  was  thought  likely  that  he  would  win  a 
seat  in  the  coming  Parliament. 

The  other  two  men  were  Molloy,  secretary  to  the 
congress,  short,  smooth-faced,  and  wiry,  a  man  whose 
pleasant  eye  and  manner  were  often  misleading,  since 
he  was  in  truth  one  of  the  hottest  fighting  men  of  a 
fighting  movement;  and  Wilkins,  a  friend  of  Casey's 
—  ex-iron  worker,  Union  ofiicial,  and  Labour  candi- 
date for  a  Yorkshire  division  —  an  uneducated,  pas- 


408  MARCELLA. 

sionate  fellow,  speaking  with  a  broad,  Yorkshire 
accent,  a  bad  man  of  affairs,  but  honest,  and  endowed 
with  the  influence  which  comes  of  sincerity,  together 
with  a  gift  for  speaking  and  superhuman  powers  of 
physical  endurance. 

"Well,  I'm  glad  it's  over,"  said  Wharton,  throw- 
ing himself  into  a  chair  with  a  long  breath,  and  at 
the  same  time  stretching  out  his  hand  to  ring  the  bell. 
"Case}^,  some  whisky?  iSTo?  Nor  you,  Wilkins? 
nor  MoUoy?  As  for  you,  Bennett,  I  know  it's  no 
good  asking  you.  By  George !  our  grandfathers  would 
have  thought  ns  a  poor  lot!  AVel],  some  coffee  at 
any  rate  you  must  all  of  you  have  before  you  go 
back.  Waiter!  coffee.  By  the  way,  I  have  been 
seeing  something  of  Hallin,  Bennett,  down  in  the 
country. " 

He  took  out  his  cigarette  case  as  he  spoke,  and 
offered  it  to  the  others.  All  refused  except  Molloy. 
Casey  took  his  half-smoked  pipe  out  of  his  pocket  and 
lit  up.  He  was  not  a  teetotaler  as  the  others  were, 
but  he  would  have  scorned  .to  drink  his  whisky  and 
water  at  the  expense  of  a  "  gentleman  "  like  Wharton, 
or  to  smoke  the  "  gentleman's  "  cigarettes.  His  class- 
pride  was  irritably  strong.  Molloy,  who  was  by  nature 
anybody's  equal,  took  the  cigarette  with  an  easy  good 
manners,  which  made  Casey  look  at  him  askance. 

Mr.  Bennett  drew  his  chair  close  to  Wharton's.  The 
mention  of  Hallin  had  roused  a  look  of  anxiety  in  his 
quick  dark  eyes. 

"How  is  he,  Mr.  Wharton?  The  last  letter  I  had 
from  him  he  made  light  of  his  health.  But  you  know 
he  only  just  avoided  a  breakdown  in  that  strike  busi- 


M ABC  ELLA.  409 

ness.  We  only  pulled  him  tlirougli  by  the  skin  of  his 
teeth  —  Mr.  Eaeburn  and  I." 

"Oh,  he's  no  constitution;  never  had,  I  supjjose. 
But  he  seemed  much  as  usual.  He's  staying  -with 
liaeburn,  you  know,  and  I've  been  staying  with  the 
father  of  the  young  lady  whom  Eaeburn  's  going  to 
marry." 

"Ah!  I've  heard  of  that."  said  Bennett,  with  a 
look  of  interest,  "Well,  Mr.  Eaeburn  isn't  on  our 
side,  but  for  judgment  and  fair  dealing  there  are  very 
few  men  of  his  class  and  circumstances  I  would  trust 
as  I  would  him.     The  lady  should  be  happy." 

"Of  course,'"  said  Wharton,  drily.  "'However, 
neither  she  nor  Eaeburn  are  very  happy  just  at  this 
moment.  A  horrible  affair  happened  down  there  last 
night.  One  of  Lord  Maxwell's  gamekeepers-  and  a 
*  helper,'  a  lad  of  seventeen,  were  killed  last  night 
in  a  fight  with  poachers.  I  only  just  heard  the  out- 
lines of  it  before  I  came  away,  but  I  got  a  telegram 
just  before  going  into  congress,  asking  me  to  defend 
the  man  charged  with  the  murder." 

A  quick  expression  of  repulsion  and  disgust  crossed 
Bennett's  face. 

"There  have  been  a  whole  crop  of  such  cases 
lately,"  he  said.  "How  shall  we  ever  escape  from 
the  curse  of  this  game  system?  " 

"We  shan't  escape  it,"  said  Wharton,  quietly, 
knocking  the  end  off  his  cigarette,  "  not  in  your  life- 
time or  mine.  When  we  get  more  Eadicals  on  the 
bench  we  shall  lighten  the  sentences;  but  that  will 
only  exasperate  the  sporting  class  into  finding  new 
ways  of  protecting  themselves.     Oh  I  the  man  will  be 


410  MARCEL  LA. 

hung  —  that's  quite  clear  to  me.  But  it  will  be  a 
good  case  —  from  the  public  point  of  view  —  will 
work  up  well  —  " 

He  ran  his  hand  through  his  curls,  considering. 
"Will  work  up  admirably,"  he  added  in  a  lower 
tone  of  voice,  as  though  to  himself,  his  eyes  keen  and 
brilliant  as  ever,  in  spite  of  the  marks  of  sleepless- 
ness and  fatigue  visible  in  the  rest  of  the  face,  though 
only  visible  there  since  he  had  allowed  himself  the 
repose  of  his  cigarette  and  arm-chair. 

"Are  yo'  comin'  to  dine  at  the  'Peterloo  'to-night, 
Mr.  Wharton?"  said  Wilkins,  as  Wharton  handed 
him  a  cup  of  coffee ;  "  but  of  coorse  you  are  —  part  of 
yower  duties,  I  suppose  ?  " 

While  Molloy  and  Casey  were  deep  in  animated 
discussion  of  the  great  meeting  of  the  afternoon  he 
had  been" sitting  silent  against  the  edge  of  the  table 
—  a  short-bearded  sombre  figure,  ready  at  any  moment 
to  make  a  grievance,  to  suspect  a  slight. 

"I'm  afraid  I  can't,"  said  Wharton,  bending  for- 
ward and  speaking  in  a  tone  of  concern ;  "  that  was 
just  what  I  was  going  to  ask  you  all  —  if  you  would 
make  my  excuses  to-night?  I  have  been  explaining 
to  Bennett.  I  have  an  important  piece  of  business 
in  the  country  —  a  labourer  has  been  getting  into 
trouble  for  shooting  a  keeper ;  they  have  asked  me  to 
defend  him.  The  assizes  come  on  in  little  more  than 
a  fortnight,  worse  luck !  so  that  the  time  is  short  —  " 

And  he  went  on  to  explain  that,  by  taking  an  even- 
ing train  back  to  Widrington,  he  could  get  the  follow- 
ing (Saturday)  morning  with  the  solicitor  in  charge 
of  the  case,  and  be  back  in  Birmingham,  thanks  to 


M ABC  ELLA.  411 

the  convenience  of  a  new  line  latel}^  opened,  in  time 
for  the  second  meeting  of  the  congress,  which  was 
tixed  for  the  early  afternoon. 

He  spoke  Avith  great  cordiality  and  persuasiveness. 
Among  the  men  who  surrounded  him,  his  youth,  good 
looks,  and  easy  breeding  shone  out  conspicuous.  In 
the  opinion  of  Wilkins,  indeed,  who  followed  his 
every  word  and  gesture,  he  was  far  too  well  dressed 
and  too  well  educated.  A  day  would  soon  come  when 
the  labour  movement  would  be  able  to  show  these 
young  aristocrats  the  door.     Not  yet,  however. 

"Well,  I  thowt  you  wouldn't  dine  with  us,"  he 
said,  turning  away  with  a  blunt  laugh. 

Bennett's  mild  eye  showed  annoyance.  "Mr. 
Wharton  has  explained  himself  very  fully,  I  think," 
he  said,  turning  to  the  others.  "We  shall  miss  him 
at  dinner  —  but  this  matter  seems  to  be  one  of  life 
and  death.  And  we  mustn't  forget  anj^way  that  Mr. 
Wharton  is  fulfilling  this  engagement  at  great  incon- 
venience to  himself.  We  none  of  us  knew  when  we 
elected  him  last  year  that  he  would  have  to  be  fight- 
ing his  election  at  the  same  time.  Xext  Saturday, 
isn't  it?" 

Bennett  rose  as  he  spoke  and  carefully  buttoned  his 
coat.  It  was  curious  to  contrast  his  position  among 
his  fellows  —  one  of  marked  ascendency  and  authority 

—  with  his  small  insignificant  physique.  He  had  a 
gentle  deprecating  eye,  and  the  heart  of  a  poet.  He 
played  the  flute  and  possessed  the  gift  of  repeating 
verse  —  especially  Ebenezer  Eliot's  Corn  Law  Rhymes 

—  so  as  to  stir  a  great  audience  to  enthusiasm  or 
tears.     The  Weslevan  communitv  of  his  native  Che- 


412  MARCELLA. 

shire  village  owned  no  more  successful  class-leader, 
and  no  liumbler  Christian.  At  the  same  time  he 
could  hold  a  large  business  meeting  sternly  in  check, 
was  the  secretary  of  one  of  the  largest  and  oldest 
Unions  in  the  country,  had  been  in  Parliament  for 
years,  and  was  generally  looked  upon  even  by  the  men 
who  hated  his  "  moderate  "  policy,  as  a  power  not  to 
be  ignored. 

"  Next  Saturday.  Yes !  "  said  Wharton,  nodding 
in  answer  to  his  inquiry. 

"Well,  are  you  going  to  do  it?"  said  Casey,  look- 
ing round  at  him. 

"Oh,  yes!"  said  Wharton,  cheerfully;  "oh,  yes! 
we  shall  do  it.     We  shall  settle  old  Dodgson,  I  think." 

"Are  the  Eaeburns  as  strong  as  they  were?"  asked 
Molloy,  who  knew  Brookshire. 

"What  landlord  is?  Since  '84  the  ground  is  mined 
for  them  all — ^good  and  bad  —  and  they  know  it." 

"The  mine  takes  a  long  time  blowing  up  —  too  long 
for  my  patience,"  said  Wilkins,  gruffly.  "How  the 
country  can  go  on  year  after  year  paying  its  tribute 
to  these  plunderers  passes  my  comprehension.  But 
you  may  attack  them  as  you  please.  You  will  never 
get  any  forrarder  so  long  as  Parliament  and  the  Cabi- 
net is  made  up  of  them  and  their  hangers  on." 

Wharton  looked  at  him  brightly,  but  silently, 
making  a  little  assenting  inclination  of  the  head. 
He  was  not  surprised  that  anything  should  pass  Wil- 
kins's  comprehension,  and  he  was  determined  to  give 
him  no  opening  for  holding  forth. 

"  Well,  we'll  let  you  alone, "  said  Bennett.  "  You'll 
have  very  little  time  to  get  off  in.     We'll  make  your 


MARCELLA.  413 

excuses,  Mr.  Wharton.  You  may  be  sure  everybody 
is  so  pleased  with  your  speech  we  shall  find  thein  all 
in  a  good  temper.  It  was  grand !  —  let  me  congratu- 
late you  again.  Good-night  —  I  hope  you'll  get  your 
poacher  off !  " 

The  others  followed  suit,  and  they  all  took  leave  in 
character ;  —  Molloy,  with  an  eager  business  reference 
to  the  order  of  the  day  for  Saturday, —  "Give  me 
your  address  at  Widrington;  I'll  post  you  everything 
to-night,  so  that  you  may  have  it  all  under  your  eye  " 
—  Casey,  with  the  off-hand  patronage  of  the  man  who 
would  not  for  the  world  have  his  benevolence  mis- 
taken for  servility, —  and  Wilkins  with  as  gruff  a  nod 
and  as  limp  a  shake  of  the  hand  as  possible,  It 
might  perhaps  have  been  read  in  the  manner  of  the 
last  two,  that  although  this  young  man  had  just  made 
a  most  remarkable  impression,  and  was  clearly  des- 
tined to  go  far,  they  were  determined  not  to  yield 
themselves  to  him  a  moment  before  they  must.  In 
truth,  both  were  already  jealous  of  him;  whereas 
Molloy,  absorbed  in  the  business  of  the  congress, 
cared  for  nothing  except  to  know  whether  in  the  next 
two  days'  debates  Wharton  would  show  himself  as 
good  a  chairman  as  he  was  an  orator;  and  Bennett, 
while  saying  no  word  that  he  did  not  mean,  was  fully 
conscious  of  an  inner  judgment,  which  pronounced 
five  minutes  of  Edward  Hallin's  company  to  be  worth 
more  to  him  than  anything  which  this  brilliant  young 
fellow  could  do  or  say. 

Wharton  saw  them  out,  then  came  back  and  threw 
himself  again  into  his  chair  by  the  window.      The 


414  MABCELLA, 

Venetian  blinds  were  not  closed,  and  he  looked  out 
on  a  wide  and  handsome  street  of  tall  red-briok 
houses  and  shops,  crowded  with  people  and  carriages, 
and  lit  with  a  lavishness  of  gas  which  overcame 
even  the  February  dark  and  damp.  But  he  noticed 
nothing,  and  even  the  sensation  of  his  triumph  was 
passing  off.  He  was  once  more  in  the  Mellor  drive; 
Aldous  E-aeburn  and  Marcella  stood  in  front  of  him; 
the  thrill  of  the  moment  beat  once  more  in  his  pulse. 

He  buried  his  head  in  his  hands  and  thought.  The 
news  of  the  murder  had  reached  him  from  Mr.  Boyce. 
The  master  of  ^Nlellor  had  heard  the  news  from  Wil- 
liam, the  man-servant,  at  half -past  seven,  and  had 
instantly  knocked  up  his  guest,  by  way  of  sharing  the 
excitement  with  which  his  own  feeble  frame  was 
throbbing. 

"By  Gad!  I  never  heard  such  an  atrocious  busi- 
ness," said  the  invalid,  his  thin  hand  shaking  against 
his  dressing-gown.  ''That's  what  your  Radical 
notions  bring  us  to!  We  shall  have  them  plunder- 
ing and  burning  the  country  houses  next." 

"  I  don't  think  my  Radical  notions  have  much  to 
do  with  it,"  said  Wharton,  composedly. 

But  there  was  a  red  spot  in  his  cheeks  which  belied 
his  manner.  So  when  he  —  they  —  saw  Hurd  cross 
the  avenue  he  was  on  his  way  to  this  deed  of  blood. 
The  shot  that  he,  Wharton,  had  heard  had  been  the 
shot  which  slew  Westall?  Probably.  Well,  what 
was  the  bearing  of  it?  Could  she  keep  her  own  coun- 
sel or  would  they  find  themselves  in  the  witness  box? 
The  idea  quickened  his  pulse  amazingly. 

"Any  clue?     Any  arrests?"  he  asked  of  his  host. 


MABCELLA.  415 

"  Why,  I  told  yon, "  said  Boyce,  testily,  though  as  a 
matter  of  fact  he  had  said  nothing.  "  They  have  got 
that  man  Hnrd.  The  ruffian  has  been  a  marked  man 
by  the  keepers  and  police,  they  tell  me,  for  the  last 
year  or  more.  And  there's  my  daughter  has  been 
pampering  liim  and  his  wife  all  the  time,  and  jireach- 
ing  to  me  about  them!  She  got  Kaeburn  even  to  take 
him  on  at  the  Court.  I  trust  it  will  be  a  lesson  to 
her." 

AVharton  drew  a  breath  of  relief.  So  the  man  was 
in  custody,  and  there  was  other  evidence.  Good! 
There  was  no  saying  what  a  woman's  conscience  might 
be  capable  of,  even  against  her  friends  and  herself. 

When  Mr.  Boyce  at  last  left  him  free  to  dress  and 
make  his  preparations  for  the  early  train,  by  which 
the  night  before,  after  the  ladies'  departure  for  the 
ball,  he  had  suddenly  made  up  his  mind  to  leave 
IMellor,  it  was  some  time  before  Wharton  could  rouse 
himself  to  action.  The  situation  absorbed  him.  Miss 
Boyce's  friend  was  now  in  imminent  danger  of  his 
neck,  and  Miss  Bo3^ce's  thoughts  must  be  of  necessity 
concentrated  upon  his  plight  and  that  of  his  family. 
He  foresaw  the  passion,  the  saeva  indignatio,  that  she 
must  ultimately  throw  —  the  general  situation  being 
what  it  was  —  into  the  struggle  for  Kurd's  life. 
Whatever  the  evidence  might  be,  he  would  be  to  her 
either  victim  or  champion  —  and  Westall,  of  course, 
merely  the  Holof ernes  of  the  piece. 

How  would  Kaeburn  take  it?  Ah,  well!  the  situa- 
tion must  develop.  It  occurred  to  liim,  however,  that 
lie  would  catch  an  earlier  train  to  Widrington  than 
the  one  he  had  fixed  on,  and  have  half  an  hour's  talk 


416  MARCELLA. 

with  a  solicitor  who  was  a  good  friend  of  his  before 
going  on  to  Birmingham.  Accordingly,  he  rang  for 
William  —  who  came,  all  staring  and  dishevelled, 
fresh  from  the  agitation  of  the  servants'  hall  —  gave 
orders  for  his  luggage  to  be  sent  after  him,  got  as 
much  fresh  information  as  he  could  from  the  excited 
lad,  plunged  into  his  bath,  and  finally  emerged,  fresh 
and  vigorous  in  every  nerve,  showing  no  trace  what- 
ever of  the  fact  that  two  hours  of  broken  sleep  had 
been  his  sole  portion  for  a  night,  in  which  he  had 
gone  through  emotions  and  sustained  a  travail  of 
brain  either  of  which  would  have  left  their  mark  on 
most  men. 

Then  the  meeting  in  the  drive!  How  plainly  he 
saw  them  both  —  Kaeburn  grave  and  pale,  Marcella 
in  her  dark  serge  skirt  and  cap,  with  an  eye  all  pas- 
sion and  a  cheek  white  as  her  hand. 

"  A  tragic  splendour  enwrapped  her !  —  a  fierce 
heroic  air.  She  was  the  embodiment  of  the  moment 
—  of  the  melancholy  morning  with  its  rain  and  leaf- 
less woods  —  of  the  haman  anguish  throbbing  in  the 
little  village.  And  I,  who  had  seen  her  last  in  her 
festal  dress,  who  had  held  her  warm  perfumed  youth 
in  my  arms,  who  had  watched  in  her  white  breast  the 
heaving  of  the  heart  that  I  —  /  had  troubled !  —  how 
did  I  find  it  possible  to  stand  and  face  her?  But  I 
did.  It  rushed  through  me  at  once  how  I  would  make 
her  forgive  me  —  how  I  would  regain  possession  of 
her.  I  had  thought  the  play  was  closed:  it  was 
suddenly  plain  to  me  that  the  second  act  was  but  just 
beginning.     She  and  Eaeburn  had  already  come  to 


MABCELLA.  417 

words  —  I  knew  it  directly  I  saw  them.  This  busi- 
ness will  divide  them  more  and  more.  His  conscience 
will  come  in  —  and  a  Kaeburn's  conscience  is  the 
devil ! 

"  By  now  he  hates  me ;  every  word  I  speak  to  him 

—  still  more  every  word  to  her  —  galls  him.  But  he 
controlled  himself  when  I  made  him  tell  me  the  story 

—  I  had  no  reason  to  complain  —  though  every  now 
and  then  I  could  see  him  wince  under  the  knowledge 
I  must  needs  show  of  the  persons  and  places  concerned 

—  a  knowledge  I  could  only  have  got  from  her.  And 
she  stood  by  meanwhile  like  a  statue.  Not  a  word, 
not  a  look,  so  far,  though  she  had  been  forced  to  touch 
my  hand.     But  my  instinct  saved  me.     I  roused,  her 

—  I  plaj-ed  upon  her!  I  took  the  line  that  I  was 
morally  certain  she  had  been  taking  in  their  tete-cl-tete. 
Why  not  a  scuffle?  —  a  general  scrimmage?  —  in  which 
it  was  matter  of  accident  who  fell?  The  man  surely 
was  inoffensive  and  gentle,  incapable  of  deliberate 
murder.  And  as  to  the  evidence  of  hatred,  it  told 
both  ways.  He  stiffened  and  was  silent.  What  a  fine 
brow  he  has  —  a  look  sometimes,  when  he  is  moved, 
of  antique  power  and  probity !    But  she  —  she  trembled 

—  animation  came  back.  She  would  almost  have 
spoken  to  me  —  but  I  did  well  not  to  prolong  it  —  to 
hurry  on." 

Then  he  took  the  telegram  out  of  his  pocket  which 
had  been  put  into  his  hands  as  he  reached  the  hotel, 
his  mouth  quivering  again  with  the  exultation  which 
he  had  felt  when  he  had  received  it.  It  recalled  to 
his  ranging  memory  all  the  details  of  his  hurried  in- 
terview with  the  little  Widrington  solicitor,  who  had 

VOL.  I.  — 27 


418  MAliCELLA. 

already  scented  a  job  in  the  matter  of  Kurd's  defence. 
This  man  —  needy,  shrewd,  and  well  equipped  with 
local  knowledge  —  had  done  work  for  Wharton  and 
the  party,  and  asked  nothing  better  than  to  stand  well 
with  the  future  member  for  the  division.  "There  is 
a  lady,"  Wharton  had  said,  "the  daughter  of  Mr. 
Boyce  of  Mellor,  who  is  already  very  much  interested 
in  this  fellow  and  his  family.  She  takes  this  business 
greatly  to  heart.  I  have  seen  her  this  morning,  but 
had  no  time  to  discuss  the  matter  with  her.  She  will, 
I  have  little  doubt,  try  to  help  the  relations  in  the 
arrangements  for  the  defence.     Go  to  her  this  morning 

—  tell  her  that  the  case  has  my  sympathy  —  that,  as 
she  knows,  I  am  a  barrister,  and,  if  she  wishes  it,  I 
will  defend  Hurd.  I  shall  be  hard  put  to  it  to  get  up 
the  case  with  the  election  coming  on,  but  I  will  do  it 

—  for  the  sake  of  the  public  interest  involved.  You 
understand?  Her  father  is  a  Tory  —  and  she  is  just 
about  to  marry  Mr.  Eaeburn.  Her  position,  therefore, 
is  difficult.  Nevertheless,  she  will  feel  strongly  —  she 
does  feel  strongly  about  this  case,  and  about  the  whole 
game  system  —  and  I  feel  moved  to  support  her.  She 
Avill  take  her  own  line,  whatever  happens.     See  her 

—  see  the  wife,  too,  who  is  entirely  under  Miss  Boyce's 
influence  —  and  wire  to  me  at  my  hotel  at  Birming- 
liam.  K  they  wish  to  make  other  arrangements,  well 
and  good.  I  shall  have  all  the  more  time  to  give  to 
the  election." 

Leaving  this  commission  behind  him,  he  had  started 
on  his  journey.  At  tlie  end  of  it  a  telegram  had  been 
handed  to  him  on  the  stairs  of  his  hotel : 

"Have  seen  the  lady,  also  Mrs.  Hurd.  You  are 
urgently  asked  to  undertake  defence. " 


MARCELLA.  419 

He  spread  it  out  before  him  now,  and  pondered  it. 
The  bit  of  flimsy  paper  contained  for  him  the  promise 
of  all  he  most  coveted,  —  influence,  emotion,  excite- 
ment. "She  will  have  returns  upon  herself,"  he 
thought  smiling,  "'  when  I  see  her  again.  She  will  be 
dignified,  resentful;  she  will  suspect  everything  I  say 
or  do  —  still  more,  she  will  suspect  herself.  Xo  mat- 
ter! The  situation  is  in  my  hands.  "Whether  I  suc- 
ceed or  fail,  she  will  be  forced  to  work  with  me,  to 
consult  with  me  —  she  will  owe  me  gratitude.  What 
made  her  consent?  —  she  must  have  felt  it  in  some 
sort  a  humiliation.  Is  it  that  Raeburn  has  been  driv- 
ing her  to  strong  measures  —  that  she  wants,  woman- 
like, to  win,  and  thought  me  after  all  her  best  chance, 
and  put  her  pride  in  her  pocket?  Or  is  it?  —  ah!  one 
should  put  tJiat  out  of  one's  head.  It's  like  wine  —  it 
unsteadies  one.  And  for  a  thing  like  this  one  must 
go  into  training.  Shall  I  write  to  her  —  there  is  just 
time  now,  before  I  start  —  take  the  lofty  tone,  the 
equal  masculine  tone,  which  I  have  noticed  she  likes? 
—  ask  her  pardon  for  an  act  of  madness  —  before  we 
go  together  to  the  rescue  of  a  life?  It  might  do  —  it 
might  go  down.  But  no,  I  think  not!  Let  the  situa- 
tion develop  itself.  Action  and  reaction  —  the  unex- 
pected—  I  commit  myself  to  that.  She  —  marry 
Aldous  Raeburn  in  a  month?  Well,  she  may  —  cer- 
tainly she  may.  But  there  is  no  need  for  me,  I  think, 
to  take  it  greatly  into  account.  Curious!  twenty- 
four  hours  ago  I  thought  it  all  done  with  —  dead  and 
done  with.  'So  like  Provvy,'  as  Bentham  used  to 
say,  when  he  heard  of  anything  particularly  unseemly 
in  the  way  of  natural  catastrophe.     Now  to  dine,  and 


420  MARCELLA. 

be  off!     How  little  sleep  can  I  do  with  in  the  next 
fortnight?" 

He  rang,  ordered  his  cab,  and  then  went  to  the 
coffee-room  for  some  hasty  food.  As  he  was  passing 
one  of  the  small  tables  with  which  the  room  was  filled, 
a  man  who  was  dining  there  with  a  friend  recognised 
him  and  gave  him  a  cold  nod.  Wharton  walked  on  to 
the  further  end  of  the  room,  and,  while  waiting  for 
his  meal,  buried  himself  in  the  local  evening  paper, 
Avhich  already  contained  a  report  of  his  speech. 

"Did  you  see  that  man?"  asked  the  stranger  of  his 
friend. 

"The  small  young  fellow  with  the  curly  hair?" 
"Small  young  fellow,  indeed!  He  is  the  wiriest 
athlete  I  know  —  extraordinary  physical  strength  for 
his  size  —  and  one  of  the  cleverest  rascals  out  as  a 
politician.  I  am  a  neighbour  of  his  in  the  country. 
His  property  joins  mine.  I  knew  his  father  —  a  little, 
dried-up  old  chap  of  the  old  school  —  very  elegant 
manners  and  very  obstinate  —  worried  to  death  by  his 
wife  —  oh,  my  goodness !  such  a  woman !  " 

"What's  the  name?"  said  the  friend,  interrupting, 
"Wharton  —  H.  S.  Wharton.  His  mother  was  a 
daughter  of  Lord  Westgate,  and  her  mother  was  an 
actress  whom  the  old  lord  married  in  his  dotage. 
Lady  Mildred  Wharton  was  like  Garrick,  only  natural 
Avhen  she  was  acting,  which  she  did  on  every  possible 
occasion.  A  preposterous  woman!  Old  Wharton 
ought  to  have  beaten  her  for  her  handwriting,  and 
murdered  her  for  her  gowns.  Her  signature  took  a 
sheet  of  note-paper,  and  as  for  her  dress  I  never  could 
get  out  of  her  way.     Whatever  part  of  the  room  I 


MABCELLA.  421 

happened  to  be  in  I  always  found  my  feet  tangled  in 
her  skirts.  Somehow,  I  never  could  understand  how 
she  was  able  to  find  so  much  stuff  of  one  pattern. 
But  it  was  only  to  make  you  notice  her,  like  all  the 
rest.  Every  bit  of  her  was  a  pose,  and  the  maternal 
pose  was  the  worst  of  all." 

"H.  S.  Wharton?"  said  the  other.  "Why,  that's 
the  man  who  has  been  speaking  here  to-day.  I've 
just  been  reading  the  account  of  it  in  the  Evening 
Star.  A  big  meeting  —  called  by  a  joint  committee 
of  the  leading  Birmingham  trades  to  consider  the 
Liberal  election  programme  as  it  affects  labour  — 
that's  the  man  —  he's  been  at  it  hammer  and  tongs  — 
red-hot  —  all  the  usual  devices  for  harrying  the 
employer  out  of  existence,  with  a  few  trifles  —  grad- 
uated income-tax  and  land  nationalisation  —  thrown 
in.  Oh!  that's  the  man,  is  it?  —  they  ^ay  he  had  a 
great  reception  —  spoke  brilliantly  —  and  is  certainly 
going  to  get  into  Parliament  next  week." 

The  speaker,  who  had  the  air  of  a  shrewd  and  pros- 
perous manufacturer,  put  up  his  eyeglass  to  look  at 
this  young  Robespierre.  His  vis-ct-vis  —  a  stout  coun- 
try gentleman  who  had  been  in  the  army  and  knocked 
about  the  world  before  coming  into  his  estate  — 
shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"So  I  hear  —  he  daren't  show  his  nose  as  a  candi- 
date in  our  part  of  the  world,  though  of  course  he 
does  us  all  the  harm  he  can.  I  remember  a  good 
story  of  his  mother  —  she  quarrelled  with  her  husband 
and  all  her  relations,  his  and  hers,  and  then  she  took 
to  speaking  in  public,  accompanied  by  her  dear  boy. 
On  one  occasion  she  was  speaking  at  a  market  town 


422  MABCELLA. 

near  us,  and  telling  the  farmers  that  as  far  as  she  was 
concerned  she  would  like  to  see  the  big  properties  cut 
up  to-morrow.  The  sooner  her  father's  and  husband's 
estates  were  made  into  small  holdings  stocked  with 
public  capital  the  better.  After  it  was  all  over,  a 
friend  of  mine,  who  was  there,  was  coming  home  in 
a  sort  of  omnibus  that  ran  between  the  town  and  a 
neighbouring  village.  He  found  himself  between  two 
fat  farmers,  and  this  was  the  conversation  —  broad 
Lincolnshire,  of  course:  'Did  tha  hear  Lady  Mildred 
Wharton  say  them  things,  Willum?'  'Aye,  a  did.' 
'What  did  tha  think,  Willum?  '  'What  did  tlm  think, 
George  ?  '  '  Wal,  aa  thowt  Laady  Mildred  Wharton  wor 
a  graiit  fule,  Willum,  if  tha  asks  me.'  'I'll  uphowd 
tha,  George!  I'll  uphowd  tha!'  said  the  other,  and 
then  they  talked  no  more  for  the  rest  of  the  journey." 

The  friend  laughed. 

"  So  it  was  from  the  dear  mamma  that  the  j^oung 
man  got  his  opinions?" 

"  Of  course.  She  dragged  him  into  every  absurdity 
she  could  from  the  time  he  was  fifteen.  When  the 
husband  died  she  tried  to  get  the  servants  to  come  in 
to  meals,  but  the  butler  struck.  So  did  Wharton  him- 
self, who,  for  a  Socialist,  has  always  showed  a  very 
pretty  turn  for  comfort.  I  am  bound  to  say  he  was 
cut  up  when  she  died.  It  was  the  only  time  I  ever 
felt  like  being  civil  to  him  —  in  those  months  after 
she  departed.  I  suppose  she  was  devoted  to  him  — 
which  after  all  is  something." 

"Good  heavens!"  said  the  other,  still  lazily  turn- 
ing over  the  pages  of  the  newspaper  as  they  sat  wait- 
ing for  their  second  course,  "  here  is  another  poaching 


MAUCELLA.  423 

murder  —  in  Brooksliire  —  the  third  I  have  noticed 
within  a  month.  On  Lord  Maxwell's  property  —  you 
know  them?" 

"I  know  the  old  man  a  little  —  fine  old  fellow! 
They'll  make  him  President  of  the  Council,  I  suppose. 
He  can't  have  much  work  left  in  him;  but  it  is  such 
a  popular,  respectable  name.  Ah!  I'm  sorry;  the 
sort  of  thing  to  distress  him  terribly." 

"I  see  the  grandson  is  standing." 

"  Oh  3^es ;  will  get  in  too.  A  queer  sort  of  man  — 
great  ability  and  high  character.  But  you  can't 
imagine  him  getting  on  in  politics,  unless  it's  by 
sheer  weight  of  wealth  and  family  influence.  He'll 
find  a  scruple  in  every  bush  —  never  stand  the  rough 
work  of  the  House,  or  get  on  with  the  men.  My 
goodness !  you  have  to  pull  with  some  queer  customers 
nowadays.  By  the  way,  I  hear  he  is  making  an 
unsatisfactory  marriage  —  a  girl  very  handsome,  but 
with  no  manners,  and  like  nobody  else  —  the  daughter, 
too,  of  an  extremely  shady  father.  It's  surprising; 
you'd  have  thought  a  man  like  Aldous  Raeburn  would 
have  looked  for  the  pick  of  things." 

"  Perhaps  it  was  she  looked  for  the  pick  of  things !  " 
said  the  other,  with  a  blunt  laugh.  *'  Waiter,  another 
bottle  of  champagne." 


CHAPTER    XI. 

Marcella  was  lying  on  the  sofa  in  the  Mellor 
drawing-room.  The  February  evening  had  just  been 
shut  out,  but  she  had  tokl  William  not  to  bring  the 
lamps  till  they  were  rung  for.  Even  the  fire-light 
seemed  more  than  she  could  bear.  She  was  utterly 
exhausted  both  in  body  and  mind;  yet,  as  she  lay 
there  with  shut  eyes,  and  hands  clasped  under  her 
cheek,  a  start  Avent  through  her  at  every  sound  in  the 
house,  which  showed  that  she  was  not  resting,  but 
listening.  She  had  spent  the  morning  in  the  Hurds' 
cottage,  sitting  by  Mrs.  Hurd  and  nursing  the  little 
boy.  Minta  Hurd,  always  delicate  and  consumptive, 
was  now  generally  too  ill  from  shock  and  misery  to 
be  anywhere  but  in  her  bed,  and  Willie  was  growing 
steadily  weaker,  though  the  child's  spirit  was  such 
that  he  would  insist  on  dressing,  on  hearing  and 
knowing  everything  about  his  father,  and  on  moving 
about  the  house  as  usual.  Yet  every  movement  of 
his  wasted  bones  cost  him  the  effort  of  a  hero,  and 
the  dumb  signs  in  him  of  longing  for  his  father  in- 
creased the  general  impression  as  of  some  patient 
creature  driven  by  Nature  to  monstrous  and  dispro- 
portionate extremity. 

The  plight  of  this  handful  of  human  beings  worked 
in    Marcella   like    some    fevering   torture.     She  was 

424 


MARCELLA.  425 

wholly  out  of  gear  physically  and  morally.  Another 
practically  sleepless  night,  i^eopled  with  images  of 
horror,  had  decreased  her  stock  of  sane  self-control, 
already  lessened  by  long  conflict  of  feeling  and  the 
pressure  of  self-contempt.  Now,  as  she  lay  listening 
for  Aldous  Kaeburn's  ring  and  step,  she  hardly  knew 
whether  to  be  angry  with  him  for  coming  so  late,  or 
miserable  that  he  should  come  at  all.  That  there 
was  a  long  score  to  settle  between  herself  and  him  she 
knew  well.  Shame  for  an  experience  which  seemed 
to  her  maiden  sense  indelible  —  both  a  weakness  and 
a  treachery  —  lay  like  a  dull  weight  on  heart  and 
conscience.  But  she  would  not  realise  it,  she  would 
not  act  upon  it.  She  shook  the  moral  debate  from 
her  impatiently.  Aldous  should  have  his  due  all  in 
good  time  —  should  have  ample  opportunity  of  decid- 
ing whether  he  would,  after  all,  marry  such  a  girl  as 
she.  Meanwhile  his  attitude  with  regard  to  the 
murder  exasperated  her.  Yet,  in  some  strange  way 
it  relieved  her  to  be  angry  and  sore  with  him  — ■  to 
have  a  grievance  she  could  avow,  and  on  which  she 
made  it  a  merit  to  dwell.  His  gentle,  yet  lirm  differ- 
ence of  opinion  with  her  on  the  subject  struck  her  as 
something  new  in  him.  It  gave  her  a  kind  of  fierce 
pleasure  to  fight  it.  He  seemed  somehow  to  be  pro- 
viding her  with  excuses  —  to  be  coming  down  to  her 
level  —  to  be  equalling  wrong  with  wrong. 

The  door  handle  turned.  At  last !  She  sprang  up. 
But  it  was  only  William  coming  in  with  the  evening 
post.  Mrs.  Boyce  followed  him.  She  took  a  quiet 
look  at  her  daughter,  and  asked  if  her  headache  was 
better,  and  then  sat  down  near  her  to  some  needle- 


426  MARC  ELL  A. 

work.  During  these  two  days  she  had  been  unusually 
kind  to  Marcella.  She  had  none  of  the  little  femi- 
nine arts  of  consolation.  She  was  incapable  of  fuss- 
ing, and  she  never  caressed.  But  from  the  moment 
that  Marcella  had  come  home  from  the  village  that 
morning,  a  pale,  hollow-eyed  wreck,  the  mother  had 
asserted  her  authority.  She  would  not  hear  of  the 
girl's  crossing  the  threshold  again;  she  had  put  her 
on  the  sofa  and  dosed  her  with  sal-volatile.  And 
Marcella  was  too  exhausted  to  rebel.  She  had  only 
stipulated  that  a  note  should  be  sent  to  Aldous,  ask- 
ing him  to  come  on  to  Mellor  with  the  news  as  soon 
as  the  verdict  of  the  coroner's  jury  should  be  given. 
The  jury  had  been  sitting  all  day,  and  the  verdict 
was  expected  in  the  evening. 

Marcella  turned  over  her  letters  till  she  came  to 
one  from  a  London  firm  which  contained  a  number 
of  cloth  patterns.  As  she  touched  it  she  threw  it 
aside  with  a  sudden  gesture  of  impatience,  and  sat 
upright. 

"Mamma!  I  have  something  to  say  to  you." 

"Yes,  my  dear." 

"  Mamma,  the  wedding  must  be  put  off  1  —  it  miist ! 
—  for  some  weeks.  I  have  been  thinking  about  it 
while  I  have  been  lying  here.  How  can  I?  —  you 
can  see  for  yourself.  That  miserable  woman  depends 
on  me  altogether.  How  can  I  sj^end  my  time  on 
clothing  and  dressmakers?  I  feel  as  if  I  could  think 
of  nothing  else  —  nothing  else  in  the  world  —  but  her 
and  her  children."  She  spoke  with  difficulty,  her 
voice  high  and  strained.  "  The  assizes  may  be  held 
that  very  week  —  who  knows?  —  the  very  day  we  are 
married." 


MARCELLA.  427 

She  stopped,  looking  at  her  mother  almost  threat- 
eningly. Mrs.  Boyce  showed  no  sign  of  surprise. 
She  put  her  work  down. 

"I  had  imagined  you  miglit  say  something  of  the 
kind,"  she  said  after  a  pause.  "I  don't  know  that, 
from  your  point  of  view,  it  is  unreasonable.  But,  of 
course,  you  must  understand  that  very  few  people 
will  see  it  from  your  point  of  view.  Aldous  Kae- 
burn  may  —  3^ou  must  know  best.  But  his  people 
certainly  won't;  and  your  father  will  think  it  —  " 

''Madness,"  she  was  going  to  say,  but  with  her 
usual  instinct  for  the  moderate  fastidious  word  she 
corrected  it  to  "foolish." 

Marcella's  tired  eyes  were  all  wilfulness  and 
defiance. 

"I  can't  help  it.  I  couldn't  do  it.  I  will  tell 
Aldous  at  once.  It  must  be  put  off  for  a  month. 
And  even  that,"  she  added  with  a  shudder,  *'\vill  be 
bad  enough." 

Mrs.  Boj'ce  could  not  help  an  unperceived  shrug 
of  the  shoulders,  and  a  movement  of  pity  towards  the 
future  husband.     Then  she  said  drily,  — 

"You  must  always  consider  whether  it  is  just  to 
Mr.  Eaeburn  to  let  a  matter  of  this  kind  interfere  so 
considerably  with  his  wishes  and  his  plans.  He  must, 
I  suppose,  be  in  London  for  Parliament  within  six 
weeks." 

Marcella  did  not  answer.  She  sat  with  her  hands 
round  her  knees  lost  in  perplexities.  The  wedding, 
as  originally  fixed,  was  now  three  weeks  and  three 
days  off.  After  it,  she  and  Aldous  were  to  have 
spent  a    short    fortnight's    honeymoon    at   a   famous 


428  MAECELLA. 

house  in  the  north,  lent  them  for  the  occasion  by  a 
Duke  who  was  a  cousin  of  Aldous's  on  the  mother's 
side,  and  had  more  houses  than  he  knew  what  to  do 
with.  Then  they  were  to  go  immediately  up  to  Lon- 
don for  the  opening  of  Parliament.  The  furnishing 
of  the  Mayfair  house  was  being  pressed  on.  In  her 
new-born  impatience  with  such  things,  Marcella  had 
hardly  of  late  concerned  herself  with  it  at  all,  and 
Miss  Eaeburn,  scandalised,  yet  not  unwilling,  had 
been  doing  the  whole  of  it,  subject  to  conscientious 
worryings  of  the  bride,  whenever  she  could  be  got 
hold  of,  on  the  subject  of  papers  and  curtains. 

As  they  sat  silent,  the  unspoken  idea  in  the 
mother's  mind  was  —  "Eight  weeks  more  will  carry 
us  past  the  execution."  Mrs.  Boyce  had  already  pos- 
sessed herself  very  clearly  of  the  facts  of  the  case,  and 
it  was  her  perception  that  Marcella  was  throwing  her- 
self headlong  into  a  hopeless  struggle  — together  with 
something  else  —  a  confession  perhaps  of  a  touch  of 
greatness  in  the  girl's  temper,  passionate  and  violent 
as  it  was,  that  had  led  to  this  unwonted  softness  of 
manner,  this  absence  of  sarcasm. 

Very  much  the  same  thought  —  only  treated  as  a 
nameless  horror  not  to  be  recognised  or  admitted  — 
was  in  Marcella's  mind  also,  joined  however  with  an- 
other, unsuspected  even  by  Mrs.  Boyce's  acuteness. 
"  Very  likely  —  when  I  tell  him  —  he  will  not  want 
to  marry  me  at  all  — and  of  course  I  shall  tell  him." 

But  not  yet  —  certainly  not  yet.  She  had  the  in- 
stinctive sense  that  during  the  next  few  weeks  she 
should  want  all  her  dignity  with  Aldous,  that  she 
could  not  afford  to  put  herself  at  a  disadvantage  with 


MARCELLA.  429 

him.  To  be  troubled  about  her  own  sins  at  such  a 
moment  would  be  like  the  meanness  of  the  lazy  and 
canting  Christian,  who  whines  about  saving  his  soul 
while  he  ought  to  be  rather  occupied  with  feeding  the 
bodies  of  his  wife  and  children. 

A  ring  at  the  front  door.  Marcella  rose,  leaning 
one  hand  on  the  end  of  the  sofa  —  a  long  slim  hgure 
in  her  black  dress  —  haggard  and  pathetic. 

When  Aldous  entered,  her  face  was  one  question. 
He  went  up  to  her  and  took  her  hand. 

^'In  the  case  of  Westall  the  verdict  is  one  of 
'Wilful  Murder'  against  Hurd.  In  that  of  poor 
Charlie  Dynes  the  court  is  adjourned.  Enough  evi- 
dence has  been  taken  to  justify  burial.  But  there  is 
news  to-night  that  one  of  the  Widrington  gang  has 
turned  informer,  and  the  police  say  they  will  have 
their  hands  on  them  all  within  the  next  two  or  three 
days." 

^larcella  withdrew  herself  from  him  and  fell  back 
into  the  corner  of  the  sofa.  Shading  her  eyes  with 
her  hand  she  tried  to  be  very  composed  and  business- 
like. 

"Was  Hurd  himself  examined?" 

"  Yes,  under  the  new  Act.  He  gave  the  account 
which  he  gave  to  you  and  to  his  wife.  But  the 
Court  —  " 

''Did  not  believe  it?" 

"No.  The  evidence  of  motive  was  too  strong.  It 
was  clear  from  his  own  account  that  he  was  out  for 
poaching  purposes,  that  he  was  leading  the  Oxford 
gang,  and  that  he  had  a  gun  while  Westall  was  un- 
armed.    He  admitted  too  that  Westall  called  on  him 


430  MARCELLA^ 

to  give  up  the  bag  of  pheasants  he  held,  and  the  gun. 
He  refused.  Then  he  says  Westall  came  at  him,  and 
he  fired.  Dick  Patton  and  one  or  two  others  gave 
evidence  as  to  the  language  he  has  habitually  used 
about  Westall  for  months  past." 

"  Cowards  —  curs !  "  cried  Marcella,  clenching  both 
her  hands,  a  kind  of  sob  in  her  throat. 

Aldous,  already  white  and  careworn,  showed,  Mrs. 
Boyce  thought,  a  ray  of  indignation  for  an  instant. 
Then  he  resumed  steadily  — 

"And  Brown,  our  steward,  gave  evidence  as  to  his 
employment  since  October.  The  coroner  summed  up 
carefully,  and  I  think  fairly,  and  the  verdict  was 
given  about  half -past  six." 

"They  took  him  back  to  prison?" 

"Of  course.  He  comes  before  the  magistrates  on 
Thursday." 

"  And  you  will  be  one !  " 

The  girPs  tone  Avas  indescribable. 

Aldous  started.  Mrs.  Boyce  reddened  with  anger, 
and  checking  her  instinct  to  intervene  began  to  put 
away  her  working  materials  that  she  might  leave 
them  together.  While  she  was  still  busy  Aldous 
said : 

"You  forget;  no  magistrate  ever  tries  a  case  in 
which  he  is  personally  concerned.  I  shall  take  no 
part  in  the  trial.  My  grandfather,  of  course,  must 
prosecute." 

"  But  it  will  be  a  bench  of  landlords, "  cried  Mar- 
cella; "of  men  with  whom  a  poacher  is  already  con- 
demned." 

"You    are   unjust   to   us,    I    think,"   said    Aldous, 


MARCELLA.  431 

slowly,  after  a  pause,  during  which  Mrs.  Boyce  left 
the  room  —  "  to  some  of  us,  at  any  rate.  Besides,  as 
of  course  you  know,  the  case  will  be  simply  sent  on 
for  trial  at  the  assizes.  By  the  way  "  —  his  tone 
changed  —  "I  hear  to-night  that  Harry  Wharton  un- 
dertakes the  defence." 

"Yes,"  said  Marcella,  defiantly.  "Is  there  any- 
thing to  say  against  it?  You  wouldn't  wish  Hurd 
not  to  be  defended,  I  suppose?" 

"Marcella!" 

Even  her  bitter  mood  was  pierced  by  the  tone. 
She  had  never  wounded  him  so  deeply  yet,  and  for  a 
moment  he  felt  the  situation  intolerable;  the  surging 
grievance  and  reproach,  with  which  his  heart  was 
really  full,  all  but  found  vent  in  an  outburst  which 
would  have  wholly  swept  away  his  ordinary  measure 
and  self-control.  But  then,  as  he  looked  at  her,  it 
struck  his  lover's  sense  painfully  how  pale  and  mis- 
erable she  was.  He  could  not  scold!  But  it  came 
home  to  him  strongly  that  for  her  own  sake  and  his  it 
would  be  better  there  should  be  explanations.  After 
all  things  had  been  going  untowardly  for  many  weeks. 
His  nature  moved  slowly  and  with  much  self-doubt, 
but  it  was  plain  to  him  now  that  he  must  make  a 
stand. 

After  his  cry,  her  first  instinct  was  to  ajDologise. 
Then  the  words  stuck  in  her  throat.  To  her,  as  to 
him,  they  seemed  to  be  close  on  a  trial  of  strength. 
If  she  could  not  influence  him  in  this  matter  —  so 
obvious,  as  it  seemed  to  her,  and  so  near  to  her  heart 
—  what  was  to  become  of  that  lead  of  hers  in  their 
married  life,  on  which  she  had  been  reckoning  from 


432  MARCELLA. 

the  beginning?  All  that  was  worst  in  her  and  all 
that  was  best  rose  to  the  struggle. 

But,  as  he  did  not  speak,  she  looked  up  at  last. 

"I  was  waiting,"  he  said  in  a  low  voice. 

"What  for?" 

"  Waiting  till  you  should  tell  me  you  did  not  mean 
what  you  said." 

She  saw  that  he  was  painfully  moved;  she  also  saw 
that  he  was  introdi^cing  something  into  their  relation, 
an  element  of  proud  self-assertion,  which  she  had 
never  felt  in  it  before.  Her  own  vanity  instantly 
rebelled. 

"I  ought  not  to  have  said  exactly  what  I  did,"  she 
said,  almost  stifled  by  her  own  excitement,  and  mak- 
ing great  efforts  not  to  play  the  mere  wilful  child; 
"  that  I  admit.  But  it  has  been  clear  to  me  from  the 
beginning  that  —  that "  —  her  words  hurried,  she  took 
up  a  book  and  restlessly  lifted  it  and  let  it  fall  — 
"you  have  never  looked  at  this  thing  justly.  You 
have  looked  at  the  crime  as  any  one  must  who  is  a 
landowner;  you  have  never  allowed  for  the  provoca- 
tion; you  have  not  let  yourself  feel  pity  —  " 

He  made  an  exclamation. 

"  Do  you  know  where  I  was  before  I  went  into  the 
inquest?  " 

"ISTo,"  she  said  defiantly,  determined  not  to  be 
impressed,  feeling  a  childish  irritation  at  the  inter- 
ruption. 

"I  was  with  Mrs.  Westall.  Harden  and  I  went  in 
to  see  her.  She  is  a  hard,  silent  woman.  She  is 
clearly  not  popular  in  the  village,  and  no  one  comes 
in  to  her.     Her  "  —  he  hesitated  —  "  her  baby  is  ex- 


MABCELLA.  433 

pected  before  long.  She  is  in  such  a  state  of  shock 
and  excitement  that  Clarke  thinks  it  quite  possible 
she  may  go  out  of  her  mind.  I  saw  her  sitting  by  the 
fire,  quite  silent,  not  crying,  but  with  a  wild  eye  that 
means  mischief.  We  have  sent  in  a  nurse  to  help 
Mrs.  Jellison  watch  her.  She  seems  to  eare  noth- 
ing about  her  boy.  Everything  that  that  woman  most 
desired  in  life  has  been  struck  from  her  at  a  blow. 
Why?  That  a  man  who  was  in  no  stress  of  poverty, 
who  had  friends  and  employment,  should  indulge 
himself  in  acts  which  he  knew  to  be  against  the  law, 
and  had  promised  you  and  his  wife  to  forego,  and 
should  at  the  same  time  satisfy  a  wild  beast's  hatred 
against  the  man,  who  was  simply  defending  his  mas- 
ter's property.  Have  you  no  pity  for  Mrs.  Westall 
or  her  child?" 

He  spoke  as  calmly  as  he  could,  making  his  appeal 
to  reason  and  moral  sense ;  but,  in  realit}^,  every  word 
was  charged  with  electric  feeling. 

"I  am  sorry  for  her!  "  cried  Marcella,  passionately. 
"But,  after  all,  how  can  one  feel  for  the  oppressor, 
or  those  connected  with  him,  as  one  does  for  the 
victim?"  He  shook  his  head,  protesting  against  the 
word,  but  she  rushed  on.  "  You  do  know  —  for  I  told 
you  yesterday  —  how  under  the  shelter  of  this  hateful 
game  system  Westall  made  Hurd's  life  a  burden  to 
him  when  he  was  a  young  man  —  how  he  had  begun 
to  bully  him  again  this  past  year.  We  had  the  same 
sort  of  dispute  the  other  day  about  that  murder  in 
Ireland.  You  were  shocked  that  I  would  not  con- 
demn the  Moonlighters  who  had  shot  their  landlord 
from  behind  a  hedge,  as  you  did.     You  said  the  man 

VOL.  I. —28 


434  MARCELLA. 

had  tried  to  do  his  duty,  and  that  the  murder  was 
brutal  and  unprovoked.  But  I  thought  of  the  system 
—  of  the  memories^  in  the  minds  of  the  murderers. 
There  were  excuses  —  he  suffered  for  his  father  —  I 
am  not  going  to  judge  that  as  I  judge  other  murders. 
So,  when  a  Czar  of  Eussia  is  blown  up,  do  you  expect 
one  to  think  only  of  his  wife  and  children?  No!  I 
will  think  of  the  tyranny  and  the  revolt ;  I  will  pray, 
yes,  pray  that  I  might  have  courage  to  do  as  they 
did!  You  may  think  me  wild  and  mad.  •  I  dare  say. 
I  am  made  so.     I  shall  always  feel  so!  " 

She  flung  out  her  words  at  him,  every  limb  quiver- 
ing under  the  emotion  of  them.  His  cool,  penetrat- 
ing eye,  this  manner  she  had  never  yet  known  in  him, 
exasperated  her. 

"Where  was  the  t^^ranny  in  this  case?"  he  asked 
her  quietly.  "I  agree  with  you  that  there  are  mur- 
ders and  murders.  But  I  thought  your  point  was 
that  here  was  neither  murder  nor  attack,  but  only  an 
act  of  self-defence.     That  is  Kurd's  plea." 

She  hesitated  and  stumbled.  "I  know,"  she  said, 
''  I  know.  I  believe  it.  But,  even  if  the  attack  had 
been  on  Kurd's  part,  I  should  still  find  excuses,  be- 
cause of  the  system,  and  because  of  Westall's  hateful- 
ness." 

He  shook  his  head  again. 

"  Because  a  man  is  harsh  and  masterful,  and  uses 
stinging  language,  is  he  to  be  shot  down  like  a  dog?" 

There  was  a  silence.  Marcella  was  lashing  herself 
up  by  thoughts  of  the  deformed  man  in  his  cell,  look- 
ing forward  after  the  wretched,  unsatisfied  life,  which 
was  all  society  had  allowed  him,  to  the  violent  death 


MARCELLA.  435 

by  which  societ}'  would  get  rid  of  him  —  of  the  wife 
yearning  her  heart  away  —  of  the  boy,  whom  other 
human  beings,  under  the  name  of  law,  were  about  to 
separate  from  his  father  for  ever.  At  last  she  broke 
out  thickly  and  indistinctly : 

"The  terrible  thing  is  that  I  cannot  count  upon 
you  —  that  now  I  cannot  make  you  feel  as  I  do  —  feel 
with  me.  And  by-and-by,  when  I  shall  want  your 
help  desperately,  when  your  help  might  be  everything 
—  I  suppose  it  will  be  no  good  to  ask  it." 

He  started,  and  bending  forward  he  possessed  him- 
self of  both  her  hands  —  her  hot  trembling  hands  — 
and  kissed  them  with  a  passionate  tenderness. 

"What  help  will  you  ask  of  me  that  I  cannot  give? 
That  would  be  hard  to  bear !  " 

Still  held  by  him,  she  answered  his  question  by 
another : 

"Give  me  your  idea  of  what  will  happen.  Tell 
me  how  3^ou  think  it  will  end." 

"  I  shall  only  distress  you,  dear, "  he  said  sadly. 

"Xo;  tell  me.  You  think  him  guilty.  You  be- 
lieve he  will  be  convicted." 

"Unless  some  wholly  fresh  evidence  is  forthcom- 
ing," he  said  reluctantly,  "I  can  see  no  other  issue." 

"Very  well;  then  he  will  be  sentenced  to  death. 
But,  after  sentence  —  I  know  —  that  man  from  Wid- 
rington,  that  solicitor  told  me  —  if  —  if  strong  influ- 
ence is  brought  to  bear  —  if  anybody  whose  word 
counts  —  if  Lord  IMaxwell  and  you,  were  to  join  the 
movement  to  save  him  —  There  is  sure  to  be  a  move- 
ment—  the  Radicals  will  take  it  up.  Will  you  do 
it  —  will  you  promise  me  now  —  for  my  sake?  " 


436  MARCELLA. 

He  was  silent. 

She  looked  at  him,  all  her  heart  burning  in  her 
eyes,  conscious  of  her  woman's  power  too,  and  press- 
ing it. 

''If  that  man  is  hung,"  she  said  pleadingly,  ''it 
will  leave  a  mark  on  ni}^  life  nothing  will  ever  smooth 
out.  I  shall  feel  myself  somehow  responsible.  I 
shall  say  to  myself,  if  I  had  not  been  thinking  about 
my  own  selfish  affairs  —  about  getting  married  — 
about  the  straw-plaiting  —  I  might  have  seen  what 
was  going  on.  I  might  have  saved  these  people,  who 
have  been  my  friends  —  my  o^eal  friends  —  from  this 
horror." 

She  drevv"  her  hands  away  and  fell  back  on  the  sofa, 
pressing  her  handkerchief  to  her  e3'es.  "If  3'ou  had 
seen  her  this  morning!  "  she  said  in  a  strangled  voice. 
"She  was  saying,  'Oh,  miss,  if  they  do  find  him 
guilt}^,  they  can't  hang  him  —  not  my  poor  deformed 
Jim,  that  never  had  a  chance  of  being  like  the  others. 
Oh,  we'll  beg  so  hard.  I  know  there's  many  people 
will  speak  for  him.  He  was  mad,  miss,  when  he  did 
it.  He'd  never  been  himself,  not  since  last  winter, 
when  we  all  sat  and  starved,  and  he  was  driven  out  of 
his  senses  by  thinking  of  me  and  the  children.  You'll 
get  Mr.  Eaeburn  to  speak  —  won't  you,  miss?  —  and 
Lord  Maxwell?  It  was  their  game.  I  know  it  was 
their  game.  But  they'll  forgive  him.  They're  such 
great  people,  and  so  rich  —  and  we  —  we've  always 
had  such  a  struggle.  Oh,  the  bad  times  we've  had, 
and  no  one  know!  They'll  try  and  get  him  off,  miss? 
Oh,  I'll  go  and  beg  of  them.'  " 

She  stopped,  unable  to  trust  her  voice  any  further. 


MABCELLA.  437 

He  stooiDed  over  lier  and  kissed  her  brow.  There 
was  a  certain  solemnity  in  the  moment  for  both  of 
them.  The  pity  of  human  fate  overshadowed  them. 
At  last  he  said  firmly,  yet  with  great  feeling: 

'•  I  will  not  prejudge  anything,  that  I  promise  you. 
I  will  keep  my  mind  open  to  the  last.  But  —  I  should 
like  to  say  —  it  would  not  be  any  easier  to  me  to 
throw  myself  into  an  agitation  for  reprieve  because 
this  man  was  tempted  to  crime  by  my  property  —  on 
my  land.  I  should  think  it  right  to  look  at  it  alto- 
gether from  the  public  point  of  view.  The  satisfac- 
tion of  my  own  private  compunctions  —  of  my  own 
private  feelings  —  is  not  what  I  ought  to  regard.  My 
own  share  in  the  circumstances,  in  the  conditions 
which  made  such  an  act  possible  does  indeed  concern 
me  deeply.  You  cannot  imagine  but  that  the  moral 
problem  of  it  has  possessed  me  ever  since  this  dread- 
ful thing  happened.  It  troubled  me  much  before. 
Now,  it  has  become  an  oppression  —  a  torture.  I 
have  never  seen  my  grandfather  so  moved,  so  dis- 
tressed, in  all  my  remembrance  of  him.  Yet  he  is  a 
man  of  the  old  school,  with  the  old  standards.  As 
for  me,  if  ever  I  come  to  the  estate  I  will  change  the 
whole  system,  I  will  run  no  risks  of  such  human 
wreck  and  ruin  as  this  —  " 

His  voice  faltered. 

"But,"  he  resumed,  speaking  steadily  again,  "I 
ought  to  warn  you  that  such  considerations  as  these 
will  not  affect  my  judgment  of  this  particular  case. 
In  the  first  place,  I  have  no  quarrel  with  capital  pun- 
ishment as  such.  I  do  not  believe  we  could  rightly 
give  it  up.     Your  attitude  properly  means  that  wher- 


438  MABCELLA. 

ever  we  can  legitimately  feel  pity  for  a  murderer,  we 
should  let  him  escape  his  penalty.  I,  on  the  other 
hand,  believe  that  if  the  murderer  saw  things  as  they 
truly  are,  he  would  himself  claim  his  own  death,  as 
his  best  chance,  his  only  chance  —  in  this  mysterious 
universe !  —  of  self -recovery.  Then  it  comes  to  this 
—  was  the  act  murder?  The  English  law  of  murder 
is  not  perfect,  but  it  appears  to  me  to  be  substantially 
just,  and  guided  by  it  —  " 

"  You  talk  as  if  there  were  no  such  things  as  mercy 
and  pity  in  the  world, "  she  interrupted  wildly ;  ''  as 
if  law  were  not  made  and  administered  by  men  of  just 
the  same  stuff  and  fabric  as  the  lawbreaker !  " 

He  looked  troubled. 

"  Ah,  but  law  is  something  beyond  laws  or  those  who 
administer  them,"  he  said  in  a  lower  tone;  "and  the 
law  —  the  obligation-sense  —  of  our  own  race  and  time, 
however  imperfect  it  may  be,  is  sacred,  not  because 
it  has  been  imposed  upon  us  from  without,  but  be- 
cause it  has  grown  up  to  what  it  is,  out  of  our  own 
best  life  —  ours,  yet  not  ours  —  the  best  proof  we 
have,  when  we  look  back  at  it  in  the  large,  when  we 
feel  its  work  in  ourselves  of  some  diviner  power  than 
our  own  will  —  our  best  clue  to  what  that  power 
may  be ! " 

He  spoke  at  first,  looking  away  —  wrestling  out  his 
thought,  as  it  were,  by  himself  —  then  turning  back 
to  her,  his  eyes  emphasised  the  appeal  implied, 
though  not  expressed,  in  what  he  said  —  intense  ap- 
peal to  her  for  sympathy,  forbearance,  mutual  respect, 
through  all  acuteness  of  difference.  His  look  both 
l)romised  and  implored. 


MARCELLA.  439 

He  had  spoken  to  her  but  very  rarely  or  indirectly 
as  yet  of  his  own  religious  or  philosophical  beliefs. 
She  was  in  a  stage  when  such  things  interested  lier 
but  little,  and  reticence  in  personal  matters  was  so 
much  the  law  of  his  life  that  even  to  her  expansion 
was  difficult.  So  that  —  inevitably  —  she  was  arrested, 
for  the  moment,  as  any  quick  perception  must  be,  by 
the  things  that  unveil  character. 

Then  an  upheaval  of  indignant  feeling  swept  the 
impression  away.  All  that  he  said  might  be  ideally, 
profoundly  true  —  but  —  the  red  blood  of  the  common 
life  was  lacking  in  every  word  of  it  I  He  ought  to  be 
incapable  of  saying  it  noiv.  Her  passionate  question 
w^as,  how  could  he  argue  —  how^  could  he  hold  and 
mark  the  ethical  balance  —  when  a  ivoman  was  suffer- 
ing, when  children  were  to  be  left  fatherless?  Be- 
sides —  the  ethical  balance  itself  —  does  it  not  alter 
according  to  the  hands  ^hat  hold  it  —  poacher  or  land- 
lord, rich  or  poor? 

But  she  was  too  exhausted  to  carry  on  the  contest 
in  words.  Both  felt  it  would  have  to  be  renewed. 
But  she  said  to  herself  secretly  that  Mr.  Wharton, 
when  he  got  to  Avork,  would  alter  the  whole  aspect  of 
affairs.  And  she  knew  well  that  her  vantage-ground 
as  towards  Aldous  was  strong. 

Then  at  last  he  was  free  to  turn  his  whole  attention 
for  a  little  to  her  and  her  physical  state,  which  made 
him  miserable.  He  had  never  imagined  that  any  one, 
vigorous  and  healthy  as  she  was,  could  look  so  worn 
out  in  so  short  a  time.  She  let  him  talk  to  her  — 
lament,  entreat,  advise  —  and  at  last  she  took  advan- 
tage of  his  anxiety  and  her  admissions  to  come  to  the 
point,  to  plead  that  the  marriage  should  be  put  off. 


440  MARCELLA. 

She  used  the  same  arguments  that  she  had  done  to 
her  mother. 

"How  can  I  bear  to  be  thinking  of  these  things?" 

—  she  pointed  a  shaking  linger  at  tlie  dress  patterns 
lying  scattered  on  tlie  table  —  "  with  this  agony,  this 
death,  under  my  eyes?" 

It  was  a  great  blow  to  him,  and  the  practical  incon- 
veniences involved  were  great.     But  the  fibre  of  him 

—  of  which  she  had  just  felt  the  toughness  —  was 
delicate  and  sensitive  as  her  own,  and  after  a  very 
short  recoil  he  met  her  with  great  chivalry  and  sweet- 
ness, agreeing  that  everything  should  be  put  off  for 
six  weeks,  till  Easter  in  fact.  She  would  have  been 
very  grateful  to  him  but  that  something  —  some 
secret  thought  —  checked  the  words  she  tried  to  say. 

"  I  must  go  home  then, "  he  said,  rising  and  trying 
to  smile.  "  I  shall  have  to  make  things  straight  with 
Aunt  Xeta,  and  set  a  great  many  arrangements  in 
train.  Xow,  you  will  try  to  think  of  something  else? 
Let  me  leave  you  with  a  book  that  I  can  imagine  you 
will  read." 

She  let  herself  be  tended  and  thought  for.  At  the 
last,  just  as  he  was  going,  he  said: 

"Have  you  seen  Mr.  Wharton  at  all  since  this 
happened?  " 

His  manner  was  just  as  usual.  She  felt  that  her 
eye  was  guilty,  but  the  darkness  of  the  firelit  room 
shielded  her. 

"I  have  not  seen  him  since  we  met  him  in  the 
drive.  I  saw  the  solicitor  who  is  working  up  the 
case  for  him  yesterday.  He  came  over  to  see  Mrs. 
Hurd  and  me.     I  had  not  thought  of  asking  him,  but 


MARCELLA.  441 

we  agreed  that,  if  lie  would  undertake  it,  it  would  be 
the  best  chance." 

''It  is  probably  the  best  chance,"  said  Aldous, 
thoughtfully.  "I  believe  Wharton  has  not  done 
much  at  the  Bar  since  he  was  called,  but  that,  no 
doubt,  is  because  he  has  had  so  much  on  his  hands  in 
the  way  of  journalism  and  politics.  His  ability  is 
enough  for  anything,  and  he  will  throw  himself  into 
this.     I  do  not  think  Hurd  could  do  better." 

She  did  not  answer.  She  felt  that  he  was  magnani- 
mous, but  felt  it  coldly;  without  emotion. 

He  came  and  stooped  over  her. 

"  Good-night  —  good-night  —  tired  child  —  dear 
heart  I  When  I  saw  you  in  that  cottage  this  morning 
I  thought  of  the  words,  *  Give,  and  it  shall  be  given 
unto  you.'  All  that  my  life  can  do  to  pour  good 
measure,  pressed  down,  running  over,  into  yours,  I 
vowed  you  then !  " 

When  the  door  closed  upon  him,  Marcella,  stretched 
ill  the  darkness,  shed  the  bitterest  tears  that  had 
ever  yet  been  hers  —  tears  which  transformed  her 
youth  —  which  baptised  her,  as  it  were,  into  the  ful- 
ness of  our  tragic  life. 

She  was  still  weeping  when  she  heard  the  door 
softly  opened.  She  sprang  up  and  dried  her  eyes, 
but  the  little  figure  that  glided  in  was  not  one  to 
shrink  from.  ]\Iary  Harden  came  and  sat  down  be- 
side her. 

"I  knew  you  would  be  miserable.  Let  me  come 
and  cry  too.  I  have  been  my  round  —  have  seen 
them  all —  and  I  came  to  bring  you  news." 

"How  has  she  taken  —  the  verdict?"  asked  Mar- 


442  MARCELLA. 

c.ella,  struggling  with  her  sobs,  and  succeeding  at  last 
in  composing  herself. 

"  She  was  prepared  for  it.  Charlie  told  her  when 
he  saw  her  after  you  left  this  afternoon  that  she  must 
expect  it." 

There  was  a  pause. 

"  I  shall  soon  hear,  I  suppose, "  said  Marcella,  in  a 
hardening  voice,  her  hands  round  her  knees,  "what 
Mr.  Wharton  is  doing  for  the  defence.  He  will  ap- 
pear before  the  magistrates,  I  suppose." 

"  Yes ;  but  Charlie  thinks  the  defence  will  be  mainly 
reserved.  Only  a  little  more  than  a  fortnight  to  the 
assizes !  The  time  is  so  short.  But  now  this  man 
has  turned  informer,  they  say  the  case  is  quite 
straightforward.  With  all  the  other  evidence  the 
police  have  there  will  be  no  difficulty  in  trying  them 
all.     Marcella!" 

"Yes." 

Had  there  been  light  enough  to  show  it,  Mary's 
face  would  have  revealed  her  timidity. 

"  Marcella,  Charlie  asked  me  to  give  you  a  message. 
He  begs  you  not  to  —  not  to  make  Mrs.  Hurd  hope 
too  much.  He  himself  believes  there  is  no  hope,  and 
it  is  not  kind." 

"Are. you  and  he  like  all  the  rest,'-  cried  Marcella, 
her  passion  breaking  out  again,  "  only  eager  to  have 
blood  for  blood?" 

Mary  waited  an  instant. 

"It  has  almost  broken  Charlie's  heart,"  she  said  at 
last;  "but  he  thinks  it  was  murder,  and  that  Hurd 
will  pay  the  penalty ;  nay,  more  "  —  she  spoke  with  a 
kind  of  religious  awe  in  her  gentle  voice  —  "  that  he 


MABCELLA.  443 

ought  to  be  glad  to  pay  it.  He  believes  it  to  be  God's 
will,  and  I  have  lieard  hiiii  say  that  he  would  even 
have  executions  in  public  again  —  under  stricter  reg- 
ulations of  course  —  that  we  may  not  escape,  as  we 
ahvays  do  if  we  can  —  from  all  sight  and  thought  of 
God's  justice  and  God's  x^nnishments." 

Marcella  shuddered  and  rose.  She  almost  threw 
Mary's  hand  away  from  her. 

"Tell  your  brother  from  me,  Maiy,"  she  said, 
"  that  his  God  is  to  me  just  a  constable  in  the  service 
of  the  English  game-laws !  If  He  is  such  a  one,  I  at 
least  will  fling  my  Everlasting  No  at  him  while  I 
live." 

And  she  swept  from  the  room,  leaving  Mary  aghast. 

Meanwhile  there  was  consternation  and  wrath  at 
Maxwell  Court,  where  Aldous,  on  his  return  from 
Mellor,  had  first  of  all  given  his  great-aunt  the  news  of 
the  coroner's  verdict,  and  had  then  gone  on  to  break  to 
her  the  putting-off  of  the  marriage.  His  champion- 
ship of  Marcella  in  the  matter,  and  his  disavowal  of 
all  grievance  were  so  quiet  and  decided,  that  Miss 
Raeburn  had  been  only  able  to  allow  herself  a  very 
modified  strain  of  comment  and  remonstrance,  so  long 
as  he  was  still  there  to  listen.  But  she  was  all  the 
more  outspoken  when  he  was  gone,  and  Lady  Winter- 
bourne  was  sitting  with  her.  Lady  Winterbourne, 
who  was  at  home  alone,  while  her  husband  was  with 
a  married  daughter  on  the  Kiviera,  had  come  over  to 
dine  t^te-ci-tete  with  her  friend,  finding  it  impossible 
to  remain  solitary  while  so  much  was  happening. 

"Well,  my  dear,"  said  Miss  Raeburn,  shortly,  as  her 


444  MARC  ELL  A. 

guest  entered  the  room,  "  I  may  as  well  tell  you  at 
once  that  Aldous's  marriage  is  put  off." 

"  Put  off ! "  exclaimed  Lady  Winterbourne,  bewil- 
dered. "Why  it  was  only  Thursday  that  I  was  dis- 
cussing it  all  w^ith  Marcella,  and  she  told  me  every- 
thing was  settled." 

'*  Thursday !  —  I  dare  say !  "  said  Miss  Kaeburn, 
stitching  away  with  fiery  energy,  "but  since  then  a 
poacher  has  murdered  one  of  our  gamekeepers,  which 
makes  all  the  difference." 

"What  do  you  mean,  Agneta?" 

"What  I  say,  my  dear.  The  poacher  was  Mar- 
cella's  friend,  and  she  cannot  now  distract  her  mind 
from  him  sufficiently  to  marry  Aldous,  though  every 
plan  he  has  in  the  world  will  be  upset  by  her  proceed- 
ings. And  as  for  his  election,  you  may  depend  upon 
it  she  will  never  ask  or  know  whether  he  gets  in  next 
Monday  or  no.  That  goes  without  saying.  She  is 
meanwhile  absorbed  with  the  poacher's  defence,  Mr. 
Wharton,  of  course,  conducting  it.  This  is  your 
modern  young  woman,  my  dear  —  tyx^ical,  I  should 
think." 

Miss  Eaeburn  turned  her  buttonhole  in  fine  style, 
and  at  lightning  speed,  to  show  the  coolness  of  her 
mind,  then  Avith  a  rattling  of  all  her  lockets,  looked 
up  and  waited  for  Lady  Winterbourne 's  reflections. 

"  She  has  often  talked  to  me  of  these  people  —  the 
Kurds,"  said  Lady  Winterbourne,  slowly.  "She  has 
always  made  special  friends  with  them.  Don't  you 
remember  she  told  us  about  them  that  day  she  first 
came  back  to  lunch?  " 

"Of  course  I  remember!     That   day  she   lectured 


MARC  ELL  A.  445 

Maxwell,  at  first  sight,  on  his  duties.  She  began 
well.  As  for  these  people,"  said  Miss  Eaeburn, 
more  slowly,  ''one  is,  of  course,  sorry  for  the  wife 
and  children,  though  I  am  a  good  deal  sorrier  for 
Mrs.  Westall,  and  poor,  poor  Mrs.  Dynes.  The  whole 
affair  has  so  upset  Maxwell  and  me,  we  have  hardly 
been  able  to  eat  or  sleep  since.  I  thought  it  made 
Maxwell  look  dreadfully  old  this  morning,  and  with 
all  that  he  has  got  before  him  too!  I  shall  insist  on 
sending  for  Clarke  to-morrow  morning  if  he  does  not 
have  a  better  night.  And  now  this  postponement 
will  be  one  more  trouble  —  all  the  engagements  to 
alter,  and  the  invitations.     Really!  that  girl." 

And  Miss  Kaeburn  broke  off  short,  feeling  simply 
that  the  words  which  were  allowed  to  a  well-bred 
person  were  wholly  inadequate  to  her  state  of  mind. 

"  But  if  she  feels  it  —  as  you  or  I  might  feel  such  a 
thing  about  some  one  we  knew  or  cared  for,  Agneta?  " 

"How  can  she  feel  it  like  that?"  cried  Miss  Kae- 
burn, exasperated.  "  How  can  she  know  any  one  of 
—  of  that  class  well  enough?  It  is  not  seemly,  I  tell 
you,  Adelaide,  and  I  don't  believe  it  is  sincere.  It's 
just  done  to  make  herself  conspicuous,  and  sliow  her 
power  over  Aldous.  For  other  reasons  too,  if  the 
truth  were  known !  " 

Miss  Raeburn  turned  over  the  shirt  she  was  making 
for  some  charitable  society  and  drew  out  some  tack- 
ing threads  with  a  loud  noise  which  relieved  her. 
Lady  Winterbourne's  old  and  delicate  cheek  had 
flushed. 

"I'm  sure  it's  sincere,"  she  said  with  empliasis. 
"  Do  3'ou  mean  to  say,  Agnata,  that  one  can't  sympa- 


446  MABCELLA. 

thise,  in  such  an  awful  thing,  with  people  of  another 
class,  as  one  would  Avith  one's  own  flesh  and  blood?" 

Miss  Raeburn  winced.  She  felt  for  a  moment  the 
pressure  of  a  democratic  world  —  a  hated,  formidable 
world  —  through  her  friend's  question.  Then  she 
stood  to  her  guns. 

"I  dare  say  you'll  think  it  sounds  bad,"  she  said 
stoutly ;  "  but  in  my  young  days  it  would  have  been 
thought  a  piece  of  posing  —  of  sentimentalism  — 
something  indecorous  and  unfitting  —  if  a  girl  had 
put  herself  in  such  a  position.  Marcella  ought  to  be 
absorbed  in  her  marriage ;  that  is  the  natural  thing. 
How  Mrs.  Boyce  can  allow  her  to  mix  herself  with 
such  things  as  this  murder  —  to  live  in  that  cottage, 
as  I  hear  she  has  been  doing,  passes  my  comprehen- 
sion." 

"You  mean,"  said  Lady  Winterbourne,  dreamily, 
"that  if  one  had  been  very  fond  of  one's  maid,  and 
she  died,  one  wouldn't  put  on  mourning  for  her. 
Marcella  would." 

" I  dare  say,"  said  Miss  Eaeburn,  snappishly.  "  She 
is  capable  of  anything  far-fetched  and  theatrical." 

The  door  opened  and  Hallin  came  in.  He  had  been 
suffering  of  late,  and  much  confined  to  the  house. 
But  the  news  of  the  murder  had  made  a  deep  and  pain- 
ful impression  upon  him,  and  he  had  been  eagerly 
acquainting  himself  with  the  facts.  Miss  Raeburn, 
whose  kindness  ran  with  unceasing  flow  along  the 
channels  she  allowed  it,  was  greatly  attached  to  him 
in  spite  of  his  views,  and  she  now  threw  herself  upon 
liim  for  sympathy  in  tlie  matter  of  the  wedding.  In 
any    grievance   that    concerned    Aldous    she    counted 


MABCELLA.  447 

upon  him,  and  her  shrewd  eyes  had  plainly  perceived 
that  he  had  made  no  great  friendship  with  Marcella. 

"I  am  very  sorry  for  Aldous,"  he  said  at  once; 
"but  I  understand  her  perfectly.     So  does  Aldous." 

Miss  Raeburn  was  angrily  silent.  But  when  Lord 
Maxwellj  who  had  been  talking  with  Aldous,  came 
in,  he  proved,  to  her  final  discomfiture,  to  be  very 
much  of  the  same  opinion. 

"My  dear,"  he  said  wearily  as  he  dropped  into  his 
chair,  his  old  face  grey  and  pinched,  "this  thing  is 
too  terrible  —  the  number  of  widows  and  orphans  that 
night's  work  will  make  before  the  end  breaks  my 
heart  to  think  of.  It  will  be  a  relief  not  to  have  to 
consider  festivities  while  these  men  are  actually  be- 
fore the  courts.  What  I  am  anxious  about  is  that 
Marcella  should  not  make  herself  ill  with  excitement. 
The  man  she  is  interested  in  will  be  hung,  must  be 
hung;  and  with  her  somewhat  volatile,  impulsive 
nature  —  " 

He  spoke  with  old-fashioned  discretion  and  meas- 
ure. Then  quickly  he  pulled  himself  up,  and,  with 
some  trivial  question  or  other,  offered  his  arm  to 
Lady  Winterbourne,  for  Aldous  had  just  come  in,  and 
dinner  was  ready. 


END    OF    VOL.    I. 


:!H|||i!ii;:;i;j|jii; 


UNIVERSrTY  OF  ILLINOIS-UflBANA 


3  0112  056525923 


